Competence As Love

Amongst the many pleasures of teaching at my school again this week, two classes with the 7^th grade stood out. First off, I knew most of the kids and had taught many from when they were 3-years old up through 3^rd grade before I retired. What a pleasure to feel their musical growth, be astounded by their physical growth and be impressed by their blossoming as growing human beings. 

 

On top of that, I felt the same mild surprise that I’m feeling helping out at another school, that sense of Middle School students who are supposed to follow the script of eye-rolling, arms-crossed apathy or disdain, being so wholly focused, polite and engaged and making it clear that they like me. I don’t take it personally. It’s not so much about me being the cool guy who talks their language and listens to their music and digs their clothing choices and hairstyles. In that multiple-choice test, I’m “none of the above.” 

 

But what I can give them is an activity worthy of their time and interest with just the right level of challenge and affirmation. Nobody would predict that Edvard Grieg’s Anitra’s Dance would be a great piece for Middle School kids to play on Orff Ensemble, but I’m here to testify— it is. That is if the kids have had years of playing xylophones in a program with 50-years of energy behind it and they have the ears, the mind and the technical skills to learn a complex four-section start to the music in 45 minutes. It would not be the same with any random group of 7^th graders. I would have to pick something much simpler and easily playable, but still musically satisfying. 

If you’re a music teacher reading this, you might be curious about the details of how I did this and it would be worth your time to consider them. But for the general reader, not so. Suffice it to say that all my choices in each step of the lesson— beginning with a playful name game, giving the background of the composition and a tiny part of the story of the Peer Gynt Suite, revealing the friendly mathematics of the melody, learning each part with them echoing my model on the xylophone at different tempos, giving them time to practice a bit on their own, teaching all the parts to everyone and then having them choose one part, reinforcing some of the notes in the phrases on the whiteboard and showing the form as well, arriving at a recording-worthy version of the piece in 40 minutes and videotaping it — had them wholly and happily involved. By the end, they spontaneously thanked me for the class as I fist-bumped them out the door. 

 

Please notice. I didn’t have to pretend to be cool (I’m not) or gush about how much I love them (I do) or praise them to the skies (though praise and appreciation was given). Simply choosing worthy material and knowing how to teach it effectively ends up translating to a form of love that the students feel and deeply need and richly deserve.  It’s as simple as that. Competence is love.

 

Of course, the “simplicity” of it requires at least 10 to 20 years of teaching kids of all ages (45 in my case) for some 25 hours a week and always reflecting on how you could have done any of it better. But the returns on that investment are enormous. 

 

PS On a personal note, one doubt I had about retiring was bumping into a piece of music that I imagined would be great to do with kids—and then having no kids to teach it to. I’ve never taught Anitra’s Dance, but here was my chance and I loved it. At the other school where I’m doing some work, the same with Grieg’s In the Hall of the Mountain King. With either group, I’m intrigued to teach Ase’s Death but might not have any more classes with them. Also at the other school, the jazz standards The Blue Room and Do Nothing Till You Hear From Me. Fabulous! Maybe I should get a job as a music teacher.