We had the best rehearsal to date yesterday! The kids were focused, engaged, and respectful. We reviewed, we learned new material, and we put it all together. We worked hard together, and we laughed together. Most importantly, we improved drastically. I wish every rehearsal could be like this!
After working with the marching percussion, I went to teach piano lessons at the Center for the Arts. I love the littles; they're always so excited and eager to learn. I continue to be amazed by how quickly they pick up everything by ear. I've mentioned the teaching pedagogy here before, so I won't go into detail again. However, I've been more concerned about rote teaching with the beginners that I've had, so I have stopped demonstrating and just sing the solfedge. I never believe my eyes and ears when I hear them play it back to me and then look at me, smiling, waiting eagerly for me to sing the next phrase.
I know I've said this before as well, but I am truly taking so much from this teaching experience. I'm so thankful to be able to witness a completely different teaching strategy before I start teaching and get into my own routine, closed-minded and hesitant to try anything new. Don't get me wrong. In the past year I have been to at least a dozen different schools, observing and assisting a variety of teachers in the many levels of music education. I've gained a lot from those experiences as well. In the end, though, that ideal of striving for perfection gets in the way. It's rehearsing four months for one marching band show or another four months for a state adjudication. I've seen teachers cut kids off in the middle of playing because they made one mistake in a passage, others fall into the repetitive nature of their yearly routine: sight read, fix, concert, with no music making, no emotion behind it at all. I've seen rote teaching a million times.
Even with the minimal experience I have at the moment, I've been there myself. I get it, I promise I do. It's hard to teach with passion, with greater purpose, when there are nagging parents and administrators, kids that struggle for what seems like an eternity, and high expectations set by others in the field that are watching, quietly, seeing who seems to have it the most together. It's a hard world. You're stuck with the kids you get, whether they be talented or not so much. It's more difficult now, with this generation, because they're used to everything being an instantly gratifying right, not a well-earned privilege. How do you make them WANT it? How do you make them stick it through, put in more effort than just a fifty minute rehearsal during class time, and guide them into finding that unexplainable power of the art that those that have stuck with it long enough can't imagine living without? How do you do all of that while having that huge storm cloud over your head with all of the stress and expectations placed upon you for your group to achieve greatness, to achieve impossible perfection?
I don't have the answer. I feel like I know less and less the more this trip goes on. The real world scares me. Here, I'm thousands of miles away. I can try focusing on the music, fall on my face in the process, and no one will know unless I tell them. I can be frustrated, discouraged, and want to quit. I can think it's not worth it. I can try, thinking I have a well-planned lesson, and it fail miserably. Here I have a barrier. A language barrier. A distance barrier. A perfection barrier. A volunteering barrier. They protect me from the judgement of others, from fear of admitting that I have no idea whatsoever about what I'm doing.
But what good are those barriers? Sure, they provide comfort. This whole experience has been hard, every part of it. From being alone to having the project I ended up having with no experience in this area. It's all hard. But if I'm not being honest with myself, with others, what's the purpose of making it through? Finding the silver lining, learning and growing as Sara the person and Sara the future music educator, that's what makes me better. That's what makes me different.
I fear every day of burning out like so many other music educators before me. I fear falling into the cycle of pleasing others, losing focus of what's important: the music and the students. This experience, though, has opened my eyes. I hope that is never what becomes of me. Through witnessing a different approach, an approach that focuses on the music - remembering the music, feeling the music, making the music - I feel like I've caught a glimpse into how to make the message of the music important, not just what's written on the page sound good enough to get superiors at festival.
I've played around with it and failed quite a bit over the past few weeks, but I think I was semi-successful for the first time yesterday. I think that's why we had such a great rehearsal, and why the little ones after were catching on even quicker than usual. I can't explain it, and I'm not entirely sure how I did it, but it's getting there. I'm so thankful to have come here so that I can start thinking about these things, tuning myself to what's really important and struggle to find a successful way of getting it across to my students.
Everyone tells you how rewarding teaching is, how wonderful it is to see when your students finally get it. They don't tell you how hard it is to convey the deeper meaning in what you do. They don't tell you the process of getting their students there. They don't tell you that the reward can only happen when you, as the teacher, finally get it and finally know how to share that with your students. I'm discovering that the reward has to be so much greater than I ever imagined. I can't wait for the day it happens.
After working with the marching percussion, I went to teach piano lessons at the Center for the Arts. I love the littles; they're always so excited and eager to learn. I continue to be amazed by how quickly they pick up everything by ear. I've mentioned the teaching pedagogy here before, so I won't go into detail again. However, I've been more concerned about rote teaching with the beginners that I've had, so I have stopped demonstrating and just sing the solfedge. I never believe my eyes and ears when I hear them play it back to me and then look at me, smiling, waiting eagerly for me to sing the next phrase.
I know I've said this before as well, but I am truly taking so much from this teaching experience. I'm so thankful to be able to witness a completely different teaching strategy before I start teaching and get into my own routine, closed-minded and hesitant to try anything new. Don't get me wrong. In the past year I have been to at least a dozen different schools, observing and assisting a variety of teachers in the many levels of music education. I've gained a lot from those experiences as well. In the end, though, that ideal of striving for perfection gets in the way. It's rehearsing four months for one marching band show or another four months for a state adjudication. I've seen teachers cut kids off in the middle of playing because they made one mistake in a passage, others fall into the repetitive nature of their yearly routine: sight read, fix, concert, with no music making, no emotion behind it at all. I've seen rote teaching a million times.
Even with the minimal experience I have at the moment, I've been there myself. I get it, I promise I do. It's hard to teach with passion, with greater purpose, when there are nagging parents and administrators, kids that struggle for what seems like an eternity, and high expectations set by others in the field that are watching, quietly, seeing who seems to have it the most together. It's a hard world. You're stuck with the kids you get, whether they be talented or not so much. It's more difficult now, with this generation, because they're used to everything being an instantly gratifying right, not a well-earned privilege. How do you make them WANT it? How do you make them stick it through, put in more effort than just a fifty minute rehearsal during class time, and guide them into finding that unexplainable power of the art that those that have stuck with it long enough can't imagine living without? How do you do all of that while having that huge storm cloud over your head with all of the stress and expectations placed upon you for your group to achieve greatness, to achieve impossible perfection?
I don't have the answer. I feel like I know less and less the more this trip goes on. The real world scares me. Here, I'm thousands of miles away. I can try focusing on the music, fall on my face in the process, and no one will know unless I tell them. I can be frustrated, discouraged, and want to quit. I can think it's not worth it. I can try, thinking I have a well-planned lesson, and it fail miserably. Here I have a barrier. A language barrier. A distance barrier. A perfection barrier. A volunteering barrier. They protect me from the judgement of others, from fear of admitting that I have no idea whatsoever about what I'm doing.
But what good are those barriers? Sure, they provide comfort. This whole experience has been hard, every part of it. From being alone to having the project I ended up having with no experience in this area. It's all hard. But if I'm not being honest with myself, with others, what's the purpose of making it through? Finding the silver lining, learning and growing as Sara the person and Sara the future music educator, that's what makes me better. That's what makes me different.
I fear every day of burning out like so many other music educators before me. I fear falling into the cycle of pleasing others, losing focus of what's important: the music and the students. This experience, though, has opened my eyes. I hope that is never what becomes of me. Through witnessing a different approach, an approach that focuses on the music - remembering the music, feeling the music, making the music - I feel like I've caught a glimpse into how to make the message of the music important, not just what's written on the page sound good enough to get superiors at festival.
I've played around with it and failed quite a bit over the past few weeks, but I think I was semi-successful for the first time yesterday. I think that's why we had such a great rehearsal, and why the little ones after were catching on even quicker than usual. I can't explain it, and I'm not entirely sure how I did it, but it's getting there. I'm so thankful to have come here so that I can start thinking about these things, tuning myself to what's really important and struggle to find a successful way of getting it across to my students.
Everyone tells you how rewarding teaching is, how wonderful it is to see when your students finally get it. They don't tell you how hard it is to convey the deeper meaning in what you do. They don't tell you the process of getting their students there. They don't tell you that the reward can only happen when you, as the teacher, finally get it and finally know how to share that with your students. I'm discovering that the reward has to be so much greater than I ever imagined. I can't wait for the day it happens.