I am often asked “How much should my kid practice?” by parents and it always reminds me of being five years old and asking my parents “How many more bites?” at the dinner table. In our household, the evening meal was like a hostage negotiation with green beans instead of people, and rather than holding my captives at gunpoint, I had to eat them.

My exasperated mother would haggle shrewdly over both bite number and size, and even once the terms were agreed upon by both parties, I would doggedly hunt for loopholes in our contract. Had it not been for her outright tenacity, I’m pretty sure I would have died of scurvy before reaching the age of six. [Read more…]