Every Chinese knows the piano player Lang Lang, especially families with piano children. We have the 2008 Lang Lang documentary and his autobiography as media. It should be said that we are very familiar with Lang Lang's growth path. "Artists have no childhood." Lang Lang's childhood and teenage years were spent entirely in strict piano learning. When he was hit in Beijing, his father became so angry that he forced Lang Lang to commit suicide, which made many people feel the cruel side of his growth. Some domestic psychology majors even regard this as a typical case of "childhood loss".

In the eyes of ordinary people, the education given to him by Lang Lang's parents was of the "burning the boat" type. Depriving children of their happy childhood play time is too strict, puts too much pressure on them, and leaves them no choice. If this continues, children will definitely have psychological problems when they grow up. But in fact, Lang Lang has been famous for more than 10 years, and Lang Lang's personality is still sound. He gives more than 100 concerts every year; establishes the "Lang Lang International Music Education Fund"; organizes charity fund-raising; and vigorously supports music education. One of Lang Lang's characteristics that I noticed is his keenness to support young musical talents. Compared with other musicians, I have seen Lang Lang devote his energy to those "rising stars" many times. For example, setting up free online "Lang Lang Piano Lessons"; creating Lang Lang Music Classroom; playing to passers-by on the street and exchanging experiences; constantly introducing musically talented children into the public eye, and bringing their own concerts and Lang Lang** *Performing together (at the recent Toronto concert, Lang Lang introduced a 15-year-old genius piano boy to the public). His actions made me more convinced of another truth: As a musician from the grassroots, Lang Lang felt that he was deprived of too much game time in his childhood. He invested a lot of energy in music education and cultivating talented teenagers, with the purpose of making children You can master the necessary performance skills faster, enter the music field more smoothly, and have more time to enjoy your childhood.

Putting aside the musical skills and musical literacy for the moment, Lang Lang’s performance seems a bit different compared to the implicit connotation of Eastern culture. His movements, expressions, hairstyle, and clothing during live performances may seem exaggerated to some people, and they are very concerned about this. Due to cultural differences, Lang Lang is very charming in the eyes of many foreigners. They think Lang Lang's image is sunny, enthusiastic and passionate. This is probably one of the prices the Chinese people have to pay in the process of internationalization.

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The following excerpts are from Lang Lang’s autobiography

That time, my father and I had to brave thunderstorms and sandstorms to ride to Professor Tantrum’s piano. house. Even though I was wearing a yellow raincoat, every time I rode my bike over a puddle, water would splash all over my body and face. By the time we arrived, I was soaked and dirty, and so was my father. We were shivering in the cold wind, but the angry professor didn't ask if we needed towels. My father said, "Professor, if you let us dry ourselves, Lang Lang can start playing the piano."

"That's not necessary," she said, her voice colder than ice.

The father asked, "Why?"

"I have decided not to teach your son anymore."

I felt tears filling my eyes. I saw that the circles under my father's eyes also turned red.

He said, "I don't understand this. My son is a genius." "Most parents of children who learn piano think that their children are geniuses, but the vast majority of children are not. Lang Guoren, Not only is your son far away from being a genius, he is not even qualified to enter the music conservatory. I think he is hopeless."

My father argued, "But professor, he won. Competition, there are various reports about him in the newspapers. He is very famous in Shenyang."

"Shenyang is not Beijing."

"You must think about it again, Professor. . All our bets are on this kid's talent. I gave up my good job and came here to live in a small shabby room just so you could teach him."

" Lang Guoren, I'm sorry, I've made up my mind." When we walked out, we were still wet. We walked into the rain again. I hugged my father's waist and rode back to the apartment. Along the way, I cried non-stop. My life as a musician was ruined. My future collapsed. When my father stepped out of the car, I couldn't tell whether the water on his face was rain or tears. That doesn't matter anymore.

Nothing matters anymore.

The father completely lost control. For the first time in my life, I felt that he was at his wits end. I no longer had a teacher, no way to prepare for the conservatory exams, and he didn’t know how to face this reality. In this huge, unforgiving city, we were friendless and lost our way.

My only consolation was the choir at my elementary school. The conductor of the choir asked me to be a piano accompanist. I especially liked the accompaniment because the children in the choir all praised my performance. During a very miserable time in my life, I felt like no one appreciated me and I felt like I had no talent, and the choir was the only light in my life.

The morning after the professor lost his temper and refused to teach me, my father woke me up an hour early.

He said, "I want you to practice one more hour before going to school every day and one more hour after school every day. After you get home at three o'clock, you have to practice until six o'clock instead of Five o'clock," that makes no sense to me. Who am I practicing piano for? But my father's state of mind at this moment does not allow me to have any doubts. There was a madness in his eyes that I had never seen before.

He said, "You must practice as if you will not survive tomorrow. You must practice until everyone can see it, and no one has a reason to reject you. You are number one and will always be First place."

During the choir rehearsal that day, I tried to forget about the angry professor and my father's abnormal mood. The teacher praised my performance very much, but she felt that the choir needed more work, so she extended the rehearsal time by an hour and a half. I knew my father would be angry if I couldn't start practicing at three o'clock, but I had no choice.

After the rehearsal, I walked quickly home. When I was almost walking to the door of the building, I saw my father leaning out from the balcony on the eleventh floor of our house and looking out. he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Where have you been? You loser. You've ruined your life. You've ruined all our lives." His voice was sharp and wild. My father has yelled at me before, but never like this. He really sounded like he was crazy. After I entered the room, his attack on me became even more severe.

"You missed two hours of practice, and you will never get these two hours back," he shouted. "It's too late, everything is ruined."

I said, "It's not my fault. The teacher asked me to stay to rehearse..."

"You are a liar, you are a slacker. You are so shameless. There is no reason for you to stop There is no reason to live."

"What are you talking about?"

"You can't go back to Shenyang in disgrace," he shouted wildly. Everyone will know that you didn't get into the music school, everyone will know that your teacher doesn't want you, and death is the only way out." My father's roar became louder and louder, becoming more and more hysterical. "I gave up my job and my life for you. Your mother worked hard for you and tightened her belt to live a life. Everyone is counting on you. It's a good thing that you came back so late. The teacher doesn't want you anymore. You If you don't practice the piano, you don't do what I say. You really have no reason to live anymore. The only way to solve the problem is for both of us to die first." p>

For the first time in my life, I felt a deep hatred for my father. I started cursing him.

"Take these pills," he said, handing me a pill bottle. I later learned that the bottle contained highly potent antibiotics. "Swallow all thirty pills in there right now. If you swallow it, you will die and everything will be over."

I ran to the balcony to get away from him.

He screamed, "If you don't take the pills, jump off the building, jump off now." He ran towards me and I started kicking him as hard as I could. I had never behaved this violently before, but I was afraid he was going to throw me off the balcony. At that moment, I felt that he could do anything.

I begged, "Stop, you are crazy, I don't want to die."

Growing up, my father always taught me to protect my hands at all costs, but At this point I started punching the wall with my fists. I wanted to smash my hands into pulp and break every bone.

My father yelled, "Stop."

I yelled back, "I hate my hands. I hate you. I hate the piano."

None of this would have happened if it weren't for the piano. The piano makes you crazy, the piano makes you want to kill me. I hate it all. ”

He ran over, hugged me, and started to choke. "Stop," he kept repeating, pulling me into his arms. He said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I really can't help you. But you can't hurt your hands." He kissed my fingers and kissed my cheeks, but I kept cursing and kicking him. .

He said, "Son, I don't want you to die. I just want you to practice the piano."

I cried and said, "I hate you. I will never I can practice the piano. As long as I live, I will never touch the piano again."

I will never practice the piano again.

Never look at the piano again.

Never talk to my father again.

Never look at my father again.

Never forgive him again.

Never stop hating him. Hated him every hour and every second. I hate that he wants me to die. I hate that he doesn't believe me. Hated that he didn't believe Professor Tantrum was a liar. Hating him makes me hate the piano, because from the time I can remember, from the time I saw Tom chasing Jerry across the keys, from the first time I heard the beautiful notes, the melody, the chords, the harmony, the magic of music, I have always loved the piano.

It's all over.

There is no sense of beauty these days. No music. Now there is nothing.

Now I am just a child without dreams, going to school in a strange city and living with a father he hates.

I don’t even want to look at my father. In the evening, he would fry delicious vegetables for me as usual, and I would turn my back to him while I ate. When he asked me questions, I didn't answer. He was also ashamed of what he had done and spent most of the apartment silent, but that didn't impress me at all. His apology meant nothing to me. I can't forgive him.

Sometimes, he would say, "Lang Lang, you have to start practicing again. You are wasting your time and you will forget everything you have learned." But his words were lost. authority. He knew he couldn't force me to practice; he felt extremely guilty and ashamed for losing his mind that day.

I had lost any motivation to play. I even stopped accompanying myself in the choir.

The conductor of the primary school choir asked me, "Why don't you play the piano anymore?"

I explained to her, "My father..."

Teacher Urging me, "Just keep talking."

I said, "Oh, it's nothing."

She insisted, "There must be something. Otherwise, you How come I was playing well one day and suddenly stopped playing the next day? "

I wanted to tell her everything that happened, but I didn't want to tell her father because I didn't answer. I was told to jump off the building when I got home late, or to commit suicide by taking medicine, so I remained silent. That night, I went home, put down the book, and cried.

My father begged pitifully and disgustingly, "Can you start practicing today?" I ignored him.

A few weeks passed. A month has passed. Then two months, then three months.

I couldn't call my mother because there was no phone in the house. I couldn't wait for her to come see us, but she had to work. I was even more impatient for her to take me away from my father, but he said it was absolutely impossible. So where does the future go? ?If I never play the piano again, or even apply for music school, what's the point of staying in Beijing? What's the point of living?

My emotions became extremely depressed. Maybe my father was right before, maybe it would be better to die. At that time, I had already begun to miss the piano - life without music means nothing to me. I would hear music in my head and my heart would be eager to play that music.

Often, playing the piano is the only thing that can comfort me. But I still couldn't muster the courage to sit on the piano bench. When I think of practicing piano, I think of my father’s violent behavior. Moreover, playing the piano makes my father happy. I wanted to torture him.

I am trapped in hell, unable to move.

Spring is over and summer is here. Since I'm not practicing, I have plenty of time. I would go for a walk by myself. Sometimes I would stop at a vegetable market and buy a pear or a peach with the pocket money my father gave me.

One day in June, I was walking through the vegetable market, stopped in front of a cart of watermelons, and started to pick up a watermelon and knock it to see if it was ripe.

The fruit vendor said, "The way you play is different from others. Most people poke the watermelon around, but you hold the watermelon as if it were a musical instrument."< /p>

"I used to play the piano."

He asked, "Before? Why did you retire at such a young age?"

I replied, "I won't play now."

"That's a shame. I can imagine you playing well."

"I had a teacher, and she said I had no talent. "

The watermelon seller said, "Who said that? Teachers are human beings and make mistakes like the rest of us. What is your name?"

"Lang Lang "

"This name is very nice."

I asked, "What is your name?"

"My surname is Han."

Old Han is younger than his father. He has practiced martial arts for many years and has a strong and strong body. His skin was tanned from years of working in the fields. His eyes were warm and honest.

Later I found out that his family was farming, and he had a son who was as old as me. He left his wife and son in the countryside and came to Beijing with his brother to make a living. Because he was such a nice person, I opened up to him. I told him about the dishes my mother used to cook and that my mother still lives in Shenyang. In fact, I told him my whole story because I needed someone to talk to.

After I finished speaking, he said, "You must play the piano very well, otherwise your father and mother would not have made such a big sacrifice. This shows that they believe you can become the number one." ”

I said, “I am No. 0. I have no ranking now.”

Lao Han insisted, “I believe you will become No. 1. Now.” Just because you are sad. But I think this big watermelon will make you happy. I hope you can think of something happy when you eat it."

I told Lao Han that I didn’t have money to buy a whole watermelon. He told me that this watermelon is not for sale.

He said, "I keep it just to give it to an excellent musician. You have practiced piano for so long and worked so hard. This is your reward. This is you "But you have never heard me play the piano."

He said, "In my imagination, I have heard you play the piano. My I have a lot of imagination. Take this watermelon and tell your father that he has a son he can be proud of."

I walked back to the apartment with the watermelon in my arms. I spoke to my father for the first time since our cold war began. I want to tell him the story of Lao Han.

My father said, "He sounds like a good man. I will have to buy vegetables from him in the future."

The next day, my father was carrying a shopping bag filled with fruits and vegetables. Back home. He said, "I told Lao Han that I was your father, and he treated me like an important person. He packed me the best vegetables and discounted them. Lang Lang, you are right, he is a Good man."

In less than a week, my father invited Han to our small apartment. Lao Han cooked a table of delicious meals for us. From then on, Lao Han became a member of our family, and I called him second uncle. His easy-going nature greatly relieved the tension between my father and me. With my second uncle here, I no longer feel angry. Dad finally had someone he could talk to, and so did I.

However, despite the goodwill created by my second uncle, I still insisted on not practicing piano anymore. When my second uncle asked me to play just a few pieces for him, I said, "Second uncle, I really want to show you how to play the piano, but I am no longer a pianist. I am just an ordinary kid."

He said, "I understand. I am patient. I can wait until the day you are willing to play again."

"I will never be willing to play again."

Another three or four weeks passed. My second uncle often comes here and often asks me to play the piano, but I always refuse. When I look at the sheet music standing on the piano, I can see the holes the mice have chewed into the paper, and each page is covered with a thin layer of dust.

Perhaps it was fate, but soon a neighbor came to visit. This neighbor complained loudly about the noise I made when I played the piano; in fact, he complained the most of all the neighbors. One time, late at night, while I was still banging on the keys, he threw stones at our window. He was the one who called the police to our house.

He was standing in our aisle, and his father asked him, "What's the matter? I couldn't have disturbed you. My son doesn't play the piano anymore."

"I am. "I came here for this."

My father said, "I don't understand this."

"His playing the piano really helped me."

"I thought his playing the piano was driving you crazy."

"I used to think so too. I had mental illness, and the doctor used Chinese medicine to help me treat it. I thought your son's playing the piano was driving me crazy." The condition is getting worse, so I yelled and cursed at him. But I need your son to play the piano again."

"What? This is confusing me. Doesn't his playing affect your nerves? "

"Later I discovered that his playing the piano was actually good for my nerves. I used to complain and asked him to stop playing the piano, but he always refused. But after a while, he started playing the piano. The piano seemed to have an effect on my nerves. His music calmed me down. My trembling hands no longer frightened me as easily as before. Since he stopped, all my nervous problems have returned. . My hands are shaking worse than before."

I suggested to him in the house, "Maybe you can buy a tape recorder."

The neighbor said, "I can't afford a stereo. But your sound is free. The sound you play is a gift to all of us. Can I ask why you don't play anymore?"

The father started to explain, but then stopped. Finally, he said, "Lang Lang can tell you why."

I tried, but I couldn't. That story was so painful.