TE20 Migrant Mosaics

Carmen-Francesca Banciu

of themselves. And no one would have spent so much as a penny on them so that they could learn something. So that they could have an education. So that.

Father always said that. As for Mother, she had gone to boarding school. A private school for wellbred daughters.

Piano. Violin. I even took ballet lessons. Even though ballet was considered a remnant of a petite-bourgeois upbringing. This was compensated with gymnastic lessons.

I hated gymnastics. And every form of sport lessons.

Piano. Violin. Ballet. Gymnastics. Russian. French. English. I always had some type of lessons. Whereas my friend Juliana was allowed to blithely push her doll stroller here and there. I enjoyed playing the piano. At first. The little, old, deaf, fat man with thegrunty-pinkears, whoalways tappedonmyfingers, drove it out of me. He was supposed to be my piano teacher. Mother knew him from before. When she was still taking piano lessons. I don’t believe this was Mother’s revenge. It was her own arbitrary way of conveying an image of life to me early on. I should learn to stand above things. In a sense I succeeded. For I still today like playing the piano. With the violin it went downhill quite early. When my teacher grabbedmysproutingbreasts.And I camehomeshaking.Without shoes. I’ll give you a cent. Even two. He shouted after me. I’ll give you more. Even more. My parents realized that an education shouldn’t be acquired at 232