those ingrates

03-16-00

Sorry I haven't been around much in the past couple days. I've been slaving away at my various resumes and curriculum vitae, so's I can get me a decent job.

This afternoon I surfed around the Michigan State University site, checking out my friends there, what's new with the personal webpages and all that. Out of curiosity, I entered the name of one of my former students into the search engine and came up with her website, created for a computer class. It was a typical first-time webpage, with links to "hobbies" and "class schedule" and "Spartan Spirit." After digging through two or three pages, at the very bottom of the "links" page I finally found a single reference to the euphonium.

I was hurt. This girl was not a nobody euphonium student. Not the kind who can go off to college and forget about the horn. She was John's star student, and when he passed his kids on to me, I inherited this star student and she fell apart on me. She practiced several hours daily and obsessed about music. She'd been planning, with help from John, to go to MSU and major in euphonium. She was almost guaranteed a scholarship based on her talent and academics. Within a couple of months studying with me, she'd canceled her audition and decided to play for fun in the MSU bands, take lessons, and maybe transfer into the music school after a year. By the end of her senior year in high school she'd scored almost perfectly at district and state solo competitions, been accepted in prestigious honors bands, performed a concerto with her high school band, and decided to give up the horn for good.

I watched helplessly as she cast the euphonium aside and devoted her life to the sport of soccer. Like most high school kids, she considered her problems silently, as though her decisions were life-important and concerned only her. I was distraught—how could she make up her mind so quickly? How could she make this mistake? What the hell did I do wrong?

My philosophy of teaching is to help the student do what he or she wants to do. If they want to win competitions and go to school in music, I prepare them for auditions. If they don't want to be embarrassed in band class, I drill them on their band music and note names. If they want to get away from Mom's pestering for half an hour, I let them vent and we play duets.

This girl made it clear from the beginning that she wanted to become a musician. Then she changed her mind. It was brutally quick, since she didn't discuss the decision with me until the day she said she was quitting. I felt personally wronged, as if she was hurting me intentionally. I was bitter, to the point of addressing flyers for summer lessons only to her younger brother and sister, both of whom studied other instruments with me. I pretended to support her decision, quietly hating her guts.

John was also upset. He was mad. He fumed, mentioning "how much we've done for her," and "so fucking stupid." By quitting, she's ungrateful, rude, making a huge mistake.

I'm reluctant to say this, but I suppose we're wrong to be so bitter. We treated her like any other student, giving her the tools she needed to be a great player, and giving her a boost up using our own reputations. It's what any teacher does for any promising student. What right to we have to be bitter? Kids change their minds. If a student decides not to study music, it's always in their best interest. It's a difficult field, even for those of us who have no questions.

We forget being that age, and not being sure what we're going to do. Musicians are trained early to say, "It's what I always wanted to do," because there's no other excuse for becoming a musician. The truth is, most of us had a moment of indecision. A year or two when we could have done something else. I, myself, planned all through high school to be a teacher—of English, Spanish, or possibly music. I was good at music, so I went for it, and I ended up becoming a performer. If I had chosen to teach Spanish, instead, my life would be unthinkably different. Would my euphonium teacher have been hurt? I think so. Especially if I changed my mind in April of my senior year, when I was playing incredibly well, and I'd been accepted into the same studio in which my teacher studied.

I've always asked my students what they want to do. It's part of my first-lesson plan. Do you want to go to Solo and Ensemble? Play a solo for your church? Sound good in band? Get first chair? For the older kids, Do you want to major in music? Play in a college marching band? Teach younger students? If a student is considering music as a career, I push them harder. Not as a favorite, or a pet, but because they need to get used to it. I expect them to be motivated to practice, and to be organized about auditions and competitions.

Part of being a good teacher, for me, is investing myself in the lessons. When a student like my current high school kid comes along, I tear my hair. He wants to major in music, but he's too busy to practice. He only practices what he wants to practice. My "star student" from last year, she loved to practice. A teacher can't help but be excited when a kid like that just climbs and climbs, improving exponentially every week.

Part of me quit when she did. It's harder for me to be interested in the travails of my students this year. Of course I want them to succeed; of course I want them to go on in music, but I don't want to be upset when they don't. Lots of private music teachers quit teaching after a few years. It's draining, giving your complete attention to a kid for a full 30 or 60 minutes. But it's also draining to watch them make their choices, knowing that you can't make them see it your way. After too many experiences like I had last year, I wouldn't have much to give to my students. Or I just wouldn't feel like giving it to them, if they're not going to use it, anyway.