“The problem,” he would tell me over and over again every week as I sat in my piano teacher’s living room, “is that people are either intelligent or physically fit. No one meets the Greek ideal.”
My piano teacher’s son was the kind of man you only realize was strange after you become an adult. He was a forty-five year old who played the cello, baked all day and lived with his mother. When he wasn’t preparing muffins or pies for his own consumption, he pontificated his philosophies of life to his mother’s pre-teen and teen students. We were a captive audience, waiting patiently for the kids before us to finish their lessons. At well over two hundred and fifty pounds, Terry never argued that he had reached this state of balance and perfection that he so passionately talked about. But he firmly believed that he had the right steps to help us reach his goal.
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