A little boy turns to his mother and says, "Mommy, when I grow up, I want to be a musician!"

The mother looks back at her child with concern and replies, "But honey, you can't do both."

I was told by my Mom that I had always wanted to play the piano, even as a toddler.  If there was a spinet in the room, I would inevitably be found scaling it, like a mountain climber ascending the shear face of a mountain, looking for a foothold or outcropping, daring gravity to grasp a handful of ivory above me.  It got to the point that my parents decided to get me piano lessons—at the age of "almost five."  By the time I was eleven years old or so, six years of piano lessons on our family's old mahogany upright had convinced me of my life calling:  I wanted to be a classical pianist.