More or Less

 

TGIF. Those are four initials most retired people don’t need to say. But after two weeks of teaching every day at several schools (and one more week to go), they mean something to me again. That little sense of exhale after hard work and the pleasure of an unscheduled weekend ahead free of children’s eccentricities. I do appreciate it and am honoring the occasion by treating myself to a dinner out with my wife at the new Burmese restaurant in the neighborhood.

 

But truth be told, I had a fine, fine day, the kind that gives more energy back than you put out. In honor of Valentine’s Day, I taught the kindergarten kids Malvina Reynolds’ song Love Is Something if You Give It Away. I’m always looking for enticing ways to enter any material, so I called up one of the kids who had sang the previous song (Skinnamarink)so well and told the kids:

 

“Some people think that if you do something especially good, you should get rewarded. This student sang so beautifully, with a big smile and great spirit, so let’s see what I have to give her. (Here I reach into my pocket and pull out a penny. I give her the penny and continue:)

 

“Now, I had a penny and I gave it to her. Now do I have more or less money? That’s right— less than I had before. Now if she is thinking, ‘You know, Doug, I don’t need to be paid for doing something that’s so enjoyable. Singing is its own reward.’ and she gives me back the penny, does she now have more or less? Right, less. How about me? Correct, more.”

 

That’s the way things work in this world. If you give away what you have, you end up having less. But there are something things that when you give away, you end up having more. Do you have any guesses what that is?”

 

It is both charming and hilarious to watch them thinking this through, inventing scenarios like their savings being equal to mine, so when we give the penny back and forth, we end up having the same. “But still not more,” I remind them.

 

But in one class, one child came up with “kindness.:” And another “friendship.” Brilliant! And it was a short step from there to the “real” answer— love. And off we go, singing the song. 

 

As I’ve indicated in some of these recent posts, I had a few kids testing my capacity to love by their behavior. One of them was in my last class and after three days of watching him defy all the procedures and rules out on the yard and watching him do two dubious things in the 30 seconds they were lined up in the hall, I spoke out loud to him in front of his teacher that this would be our last class together and I would love to report back what a great job he did by the end of the class. And made it clear to both him and some other rowdy students that I was going to teach them one of the favorite games that my students at my other school LOVED to play, but they would have to earn the right to play it by following the same directions as the rest of the kids. I advised them to talk to themselves in their mind and choose whether they wanted to have fun by doing things well or by doing things silly and wrong. And if the latter, why, they simply wouldn’t get to play the game.

 

Any teacher— or parent— will understand that being clear about the rules, procedures, expectations and consequences is an important part of helping shape children’s behavior. But that alone doesn’t take you all the way. There has to be a breakthrough in which the kid is convinced that the choice of doing things well is a better choice because they’re feeling the pleasure of it. That a teacher smiling at you and giving you a thumbs up is a better feeling than the stern look and the raised voice.

 

Early on in the class, the student in question raised his hand and said, “I want my old teacher back!” (Remember I was subbing for her). And I answered, “Well, the good news is that she’s coming back on Monday and I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear you missed her. But meanwhile, here’s your last class with me and I’d be so happy to remember you as the great student I know you can be. Let’s go!”

 

So when I gave them the task of making the shape of the first letter of their first name with their whole body on the floor, he did a great job and I immediately complemented him. His little smile was a welcome contrast to the blank look he gave me when I gently, but clearly, had re-directed his earlier behavior on the yard. Things were looking promising.

 

And it got better from there. In fact, he had a great class, including working well with a partner and at the end, I gave him a message to tell his teacher: “Doug said I did a great job!” Later, on the yard, I was discussing this with another teacher and she told me, “You know, he didn’t speak a word of English when he arrived at school this past September.”Important information! Perhaps some of his blank looks when I talked to him on the yard had a little to do with that. And it made me admire him more, this kid I slightly dreaded working with in my last class. So yes, Malvina had it right. “Love is something if you give it away, you end up having more.”

 

And so is energy and so is music. And as I went from singing to 5 year-olds to singing to some forty 85 and 95-year-olds at the Jewish Home, in company with Javier the clarinet player, and Natalie, a trained singer, the love and music and energy came back to me exponentially. So instead of the exhausted TGIF, there was the wholly energized “I could keep going but I’ll be happy to have a little break” version.

 

Happy Friday, my friends!

Bus in a Snowstorm

The kids I’m teaching are continue to inspire me and challenge me and often both together.

 

I have my Doug Goodkin ^TM partner-choosing method which is not foolproof, but often bypasses the drama of who picks who for a partner. But in today’s 2^ndgrade glass, I let them pick their own partner and that left two boys who ran screaming to opposite sides of the room refusing to work together. I pulled out my “bus in a snowstorm metaphor:’

 

“ You know, though we all have people we like without trying and some people we find it difficult to like and be with,  we all have to learn how to get along with everyone in this world. If you’re on a bus, you don’t get to choose who the other passengers are. You might decide that you don’t like the person sitting next to you, but if the bus gets stuck in a snowstorm, suddenly you may have to work together to figure out how to survive. So you might as well start now.”

 

One of them turns to me and says, “Well, I don’t have to worry about that —it doesn’t snow in San Francisco!” Kids. You gotta love ‘em. Or not.

 

So I went to Tier 2 and made clear that they could choose to try to be together in a super-fun game or sit out on opposite sides of the room and watch the rest of us have a great time. They tentatively agreed to the former and off we went to play one of the most fun music class games in my repertoire— Stations. (If you’re curious, get my Intery Mintery book). Within two minutes they were working together and having a great time. At the end, I asked whether they discovered that they could work together and they agreed that they could.

 

And so I repeat the offer I make often that no one ever takes me up on. Before Congress meets, I would like to do a workshop with them. Have MTG (can’t stand to say her name) team up with Joe Biden in a small creative project and see what changes. If she refused (as I imagine so many of her ilk would), she’d have to sit in the hall and let the grown-ups take care of business without her. 

 

And for the record, I would not be happy to be stuck in a bus during a snowstorm with her. But if needed, I’d do my best to partner up. 

Horton and Me

“I meant what I said and I said what I meant.

An elephant’s faithful, one hundred per cent!”

 

 I woke up this morning thinking about Horton sitting on that egg. All the eggs that I have sat on for so long, never sure which one was actually mine, but nevertheless, persisting. The years come and go —so many years!—and there I still am, through all seasons and weather, still perched on those varied nests wondering what will hatch and when. For example:

 

• 65 years playing piano.

• 51 years teaching music, sitting zazen meditation and living in San Francisco.

• 49 years with my wife, 44 of those married.

• 45 years teaching at The San Francisco School.

• 44 years giving Orff workshops, 40 going to National Orff Conferences.

• 42 years as a parent.

• 40 years living in my current home, leading neighborhood Christmas caroling and doing a ritual New Year’s walk with two other families.

• 39 years as a published author (articles), 26 years (books). 

• 33 years with the Men’s Group and teaching Orff courses internationally.

• 31 years teaching the summer Orff Levels Course and Jazz Course. 

• 15 years playing piano at The Jewish Homme for the Aged.

• 12 years with the Pentatonics Jazz Band.

 

Longevity and stubborn perseverance seems to be my life story. You would think that time would reap such glorious rewards that I would become a spiritually enlightened Buddhist, virtuoso piano player, best-selling author, a perfect husband and father and friend and a teacher who touched the heart and soul of every student I’ve ever encountered. 

 

Of course, you would be wrong.

 

But nevertheless, I persist. And happily so. Horton and me. 

The G.S. Syndrome

I’m deep into my post-retirement back-to-school -teaching, having just finished my 7^th(school) day straight and four more to go. (With requests for four more at a different place after that!) Mostly, it’s a pleasure— especially the kindergarten kids! 

 

Yet I had two rather strange experiences in the last two days that feels different than anything I can remember in 45 years of teaching some 6 classes a day. 

 

The kids eat lunch outside and at a given time, can transition to free play. But first they have to show they’ve eaten at least half their lunch. A 2^ndgrader showed me his full lunchbox and claimed the couple of baby carrots he ate was sufficient. His sandwich was untouched, so I sent him back with instructions to eat half his sandwich. He came back five minutes later and showed me this:

 

And claimed with all sincerity that this qualified for eating a half a sandwich. Really?

 

Then the other day, a first-grade boy came in shouting while he was dancing and I gently reminded him not to use his voice while moving. One minute later, he shouted again, yet louder. When I reminded him that I had just asked him not to use his voice, he shouted, “That wasn’t me!!! I didn’t say anything!!!” 

 

“Well, that’s interesting, because I was standing right next to you and I saw your mouth open and heard that sound come out of it.”

 

“No, that wasn’t me!! I didn’t do that!!” And fell on the ground in a tantrum.

 

Well, it’s possible that he was telling some deep truth about how a djinn or demon or devil entered his body and caused that to happen and it wasn’t really him. But with nine other kids ready to actually get on with the class, this wasn’t the time to discuss it. So I escorted him to the office and returned to teach the class. He did come back in about ten minutes later and kind of managed to get through the class. 

 

Now of course, I’ve had plenty of kids insist that they didn’t break that mallet or pinch that kid or say that mean thing and because I wasn’t right in front of them when they did them, they could lie their way through the accusation to avoid accountability. Why, I believe I did some of that myself as a kid!

 

But to show me an uneaten sandwich and claim he ate half, to shout while I was right next to him and insist it wasn’t him— well, I find that disturbing. In seems like we’re raising the next generation of George Santos’ or Donald Trump’s in training. In the old days (20 years ago?), one could only conjecture whether a crime was committed and then demand proof based on reliable witnesses or rarely, a photograph. Now with instant cell-phone documentation, here are hundreds/ thousands of lies being told and crimes being committed in plain view and somehow, these people are still running free or serving in the highest offices in the land. The spinning what so clearly happened has gotten so out of hand that we’re all dizzy from it. I still find it extraordinary that the ex-Pres Liar-in-Chief told some twenty to thirty thousand (!!!!!) lies that were dutifully fact-checked and shown to be false— and yet nobody cared. I repeat. Twenty to thirty THOUSAND!!!!!! Again, overwhelm the people so that their vision is blurred from the dizzying onslaught and you can get away with it.

 

People, this is not good. But when the kids start catching on and some part of them thinks, “Hey, what a deal! We can do anything we want without any accountability! Just insist it didn’t happen and that the evidence before the adult’s eyes is “fake news”! Sweet!!" This is not good.

 

And so children, who have been my hope amidst this madness, have started to drink the Kool Aid. Be afraid, my friends. Be very afraid. 

 

PS And teachers, we’ll just have to work harder. Train yourself to notice the George Santos Syndrome and dig out that evil before it takes root.

  

Yesterday

 

… marked a new record of steps walked. 414, to be exact, .017 miles. My lowest to date.

 

It rained all day long and I never left the house. 

 

I did answer every e-mail until I got to 0.

 

I watched the pianist Yuja Wang on Youtube and listened to Fred Hersch with Esperanza Spalding and then spent a couple of hours at the piano with a new feeling in my fingers. 

 

I cooked a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch and watched Stephen Colbert with my wife, his monologue with way too much information about Groundhog’s Day. 

 

I almost went to a corner store to get noodles, but my wife Karen volunteered to go instead.

 

I cooked the noodles. With eggplant, red pepper, scallions and tofu.

 

We watched 2 ½ episodes of Shetland, Season 7 (a surprise find!). Popcorn was made.

 

This morning it’s still raining and I’ve walked 19 steps.

 

I really have to get out.

 

The Art of Tracking

At the risk of being yet more unpopular in my mother organization, let me be blunt. A colleague of mine submitted a proposal to present a workshop at the next National Conference and though he had recently given one of the finest workshops I’ve had the pleasure to attend in the conference last year, his proposal was rejected. In explaining why, the committee shared their decision-making process. When considering a proposal, here’s what matters to them:  

·Objective is clearly stated and matches focus and description. (5 points) 

·Outline is clear and complete. (5 points) please upload in PDF format.

·Outline lists sequential learning process. (5 points)

·Outline includes media transfer if applicable: sing, say, dance, play. (5 points)

·Outline provides detailed material for a successful 75-minute session; too much, or too little detracts from your score. (3 points)

·Material and scores are of high quality. (3 points)

·Material matches selected age level. (3 points)

In short, though this teacher had proven his worth by hosting a sumptuous meal, they were mostly concerned that the menu follow all the correct guidelines. I find this disturbing.

Imagine my delight when I happened to be browsing through a book by the poet William Stafford titled Crossing Unmarked Snow: Further Views on the Writer’s Vocation. Stafford was an extraordinary and humble poet who trusted his intuition. He woke up early every day of his life and sat before a white piece of paper, picked up his pencil and just started “crossing that unmarked snow” without a plan or purpose beyond setting his foot down and start walking and see what comes up. 

One essay is titled Interviewing Tracker Dog: A Fantasy Before the Daily Craft Lecture at Any Writer’s Conference. It brilliantly captures the dynamic above:

“Tracker Dog, Tracker Dog, what are your plans for finding the little child lost in the mountains?”

Sniff-sniff. Sniff-sniff. Sniff-sniff.

“Tracker Dog, you are not answering my question. I suspect you of being a romantic, some kind of modern ignoramus. Maybe you haven’t studied the tradition that worthy tracker dogs before you have established.”

Sniff-sniff. Sniff-sniff. Sniff-sniff.

“Now wait—surely you see the advantage of outlining your objectives, of a rational approach.”

Sniff-sniff. Sniff-sniff. Sniff-sniff.

“You ungrateful tracker dog, pretending you never studied T.S. Beagle, or W.B. Setter, or learned the trochaic lope in order to have a foundation for running.”

Sniff-sniff. Sniff-sniff. Sniff-sniff.

“All right, Tracker Dog— you’ll never learn the elegant line, the turns that make a trail that we can admire and study. You’re not a worthy model for us.”

Sniff-sniff. Sniff-sniff. Sniff-sniff.

And so a word to my colleagues in the organization. When the lost child is found in the mountains, all are besides themselves with joy. No one cares about the details of how it was done. While some were writing impressive plans as to how one should do it, the other followed his nose and got the job done. That’s what counts. 

Vibration to Vibration

Today I stumbled into a Youtube video of Yuja Wang playing a piano version of The Flight of the Bumblebee. If I was an aspiring classical concert pianist, I think I might have quit on the spot and gone into office work where I might get the satisfaction of putting the files in the correct order. She was simply phenomenal and I suspect even Art Tatum might be scratching his head a bit and wondering, “Hmm. Can I do that?”

 

Now some amongst you might think I would have said, “… give up performing aspirations and become a music teacher.” But if you think it’s breathtaking to run up and down the keyboard at lightning speed without missing a note, try keeping up with the energy level and attention of 3-year-olds without missing a kid. If my musician self-esteem would suffer in her presence, I’d simply challenge her to a teach-off with 3-year olds and see how she fared. 

 

But hey, it’s not about competition, except in the old sense of the word— “com” the prefix that means “with” and “petition”, the ancient practice of figuring out which Greek god, Yoruban orisha or Catholic saint to petition for you particular need or hope or wish. So when you find someone petitioning the same God— like Steph Curry and Kyrie Irving— what appears to be two players against each other is actually two players with each other spurring each other on to greater heights. That’s why they hug at the end of the game. 

 

So after watching Ms. Wang’s fireworks, I went to the piano and lit my little sparkler and damn if I didn’t play better than ever. Even over that tiny Youtube screen, the vibrations came through and entered my fingers, posture, musical thinking and shades of emotional expression. And when all is said and done, all the fancy pedagogies and mentor advice, that’s basically what it comes down to. Being in the presence of one a bit further down the path and absorbing the teaching vibration-to -vibration. Same idea of sitting in the company of an Indian guru or Zen master. The words are just ornamental. 

 

Which means that to be a good teacher means not only to continually move to the edge of mastery in your craft and not only open your heart wider to each student who comes before you, but to come more fully into your own presence, your own character, your own way of thinking, your own way of loving. Not a single bit of which can be taught in a teacher-training college or assessed by any conventional means. 

 

I’m continually astounded by how high the bar is in the field of music. The sheer number of musicians who no one ever heard of playing at such a high level, whether it be jazz, Western classical, Indian tabla, Balinese gamelan, what have you. All proof that evolution is real and that all the years of standing on the shoulders of giants has enlarged the view. 

As in music, so in basketball. What the Warriors are doing on the court is consistently breathtaking in terms of the 3-point shots and incredible teamwork. And yet the teams they’re playing are matching it and leaving them with a 50-50 record. It’s safe to say that the worst NBA team today playing the best NBA team 50 years ago—or even 20 years ago— would wipe them off the court. 

 

What’s baffling is that at the same time that the bar of human accomplishment and, though hard to believe, increase tolerance and empathy and understanding of difference, is rising, that there seems to be a corresponding descent in the simplest demands of being a decent human being. And these folks seem to be getting the lion’s share of media attention.

 

Nothing to do but keep increasing the positive vibrational glow and invite others in. That’s my plan, at any rate. After I practice just a little bit more piano.