Back in My Lane

After my evening of scorching self-doubt, I remembered where my home properly is. I may never be anything but the most amateur of musicians, authors, speakers, but when it comes to teaching, there is never a sliver of doubt. Put me in a class with 3^rd graders sitting on a rug singing Halloween songs, a circle of Orff teachers anytime, anywhere, a group of wheelchair-bound elders gathered around the piano, and I am in my proper lane, en route on the highway to Heaven. Somehow the constant changing lanes and taking side routes seems a necessary part of the journey, but there is just one lane where I wholly belong and that is called “teacher.”

 

Today was the aforementioned singing with kids at a school where my neighbor goes. I slung my guitar on my back and walked through the park to get there and that was the beginning of the delight. I walked in the room and though I’ve sung with this class maybe three or four times a year for the past three years, still I recognize many of them and they remember me. With some prompting, they can come up with some of the songs we have sung and they did. 

 

As a music teacher, I owe it to all my students, young, old and middle, to be the best musician I can be. To reflect as deeply as possible about pedagogy and the practice of the teaching craft. To speak as eloquently as I can on behalf of the children, the teachers, our profession, our passion. It’s good to remember that this is the purpose of all my stumbling efforts and triumphant success in each of those fields is wholly beyond the point. For me, at least. Those who were born to play basketball like Steph Curry or Caitlin Clark, cello like Yo Yo Ma or piano like Yuja Wang —you get the idea— have their lanes clearly demarcated and they are welcome to them. My destiny may look like a small lane on a country road compared to theirs, but both get you to heaven. No comparison necessary.