I became a piano teacher almost 4 years ago. I was 20 years old then.
I thought I don't want that. I was very loud when declaring that I don't want to teach till I get older, I want to have a concert career before that...and all that bla bla.
And as you may or may not know, the Universe has funny ways of doing something and then giggle at your surprise and confusion.
I graduated in June, spent the summer feeling completely clueless as to what am I supposed to do now. Unlike now, when I am constantly reflecting "What I want to do", back then I was concerned with "suppose to do".
The summer was over and the school year just beginning.
One day in early September on my way out of the Music Academy, the chief of the Keyboard Department at the State Primary and Secondary Music School approached me with a piece of paper saying: "This is a list of kids I would like you to teach". (That's the moment when the Universe giggles).
In that very moment felt I want that. It felt right.
I wasn't sure about anything else, the career I had imagined before and if I really want that, but I was sure about teaching.
I have always, especially after all the bad experiences I've had, emphasized the importance of a high quality educational system.
By educational system I don't mean just great books, great working plan, great schools.
Above all I mean good, dedicated, inspiring, motivating, humble, resilient educators.
This was my chance to be that.
So, I took the offer and started.
I had 5 kids to start with but the number got bigger quite fast....to make it clear at the beginning, so that any confusion is avoided.
I often say I have 15 kids now, and people give me reeeeally weird looks.
By my kids I mean my piano pupils who range from 6 year olds to 18 year olds (oh,yes! the difference is amazing:).
And I fell in love, in love with the kids and in love with the process.
I felt and I still feel every day, so privileged to witness their excitement when they discover something I take for granted and don't even think about anymore (like how can the right hand play one thing and the left hand something completely different,wooooow), the sparkle in their eyes after the first concert, the process of facing responsibility and realizing what stage fear is....
I am now on the other side, I am witnessing what I was going through years ago.
But, I never thought I would learn so much, that I will be so challenged by 6 year olds to question a lot of my behavior and approach not just to teaching but to life as well. I feel like I'm growing up and developing with them.
One girl that I started teaching last year challenged me to really deeply think about this. Every time she would make a mistake she says: "I'm stupid, I'm so stupid". I was shocked by that.
But what I noticed after becoming aware of that one girl, was that every kid has a different, more or less negative reaction to making mistakes.
Mistakes are the normal, healthy and I believe the only way of learning.
But, only if we don't fear them.
Only if we have built an understanding what mistakes are and how to deal with them. And precisely this is the great responsibility of the teacher! Before dealing with the actual mistake and resolving it, the teacher has to give time to working on what mistakes mean, why they happen and what to do next.
I encourage my kids, I challenge them to explore the new, to find out things on their own and I tell them that they will make a lot of mistakes while trying that. Only because it's new and still unexplored!
I tell them that I made a lot of mistakes when I was their age and I am still making a lot of mistakes when I'm learning a new piece.
It's so interesting when you give a personal example, when you tell them that you were once at their age.
Because kids often perceive us as a "ready product" and it makes such a difference, when they discover that their teacher used to be a kid.
This might sound silly to a grown up, but kids really relate to the teacher's personal examples.
This approach obviously goes deeper than to just "how to learn" a new piece of music.
If we teach kids to be afraid of mistakes (by not re-checking our approach, vocabulary and methodology) we create generations fearful from the new and the different, scared to try it out.
I believe we are all teachers in one way or another.
Mother Theresa said:
“Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier. Be the living expression of God's kindness: kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile.”
That's teaching. That's teaching and passing on a powerful message.
I'm putting an accent to the importance of teaching kids, because they're like sponges. They absorb everything, they're still so pure that every word we use has an impact on them.
They still don't have habitual defense mechanisms. We develop those through time.
But it's not that different with grown ups.
It doesn't matter if you're not a teacher teacher (involved in the formal system) .
If you are a parent, a grand parent, a brother or sister, a cousin, a friend....you are a teacher to so many!
So, when you're talking with someone, when someone is sharing their wildest dreams or deepest fear with you, really ask yourself: "What is my teaching right now"?
I am really interested to know who was the most important teacher in your life so far? Was it a teacher teacher, or a random stranger you met? What were they like, how were they? What was their teaching?
We humans, are lucky indeed! Isn't it amazing how much we can learn from and teach each other...thank you for this post and making me think of this again. My best teacher teacher was my high school English teacher - I have always been fascinated by his commitment to his work, excellence and effort put in taking the best out of us; engaging all the student in lengthy discussions on a great variety of topics, even taboo-considered ones, and topics that others were afraid were too sensitive to allow to be discussed, especially in such an ethnically and religiously mixed environment with an infamous history of armed conflicts. While allowing all of us to share our opinions and points of view however, he never failed in making sure that the discussions didn’t lose direction and drift into debates and argumentations of the type “I’m right, you’re not”
ReplyDeleteWhereas non-teacher teachers, well they are too many! Beautiful people surround me! Brave persons are what I admire the most, though. And those have taught much to me about bravery: but most importantly, how their gentle soul seems to be their most common hallmark, no exceptions made.
How honest and brave you are, my dear. I salute you. These are the moments that came to mind as I read your blog/mind (!):
ReplyDeleteMoment #1: I was almost 30 when I bought a piano, taught myself to read music, and started taking lessons. After every lesson I would be wiped out for the rest of the evening. The man I worked for at the time found this very puzzling because to him playing the piano was a real joy (and this is certainly what I had hoped for too). I explained to him that it was draining because I made so many mistakes and I saw this as failure. I wanted so much to get it right. He pointed out to me that if I could play perfectly, I would have no more need of instruction. My teacher did not expect me to get everything right so why should I? It was then that I realized that I had been putting my effort into the trying—trying to get the notes right. But it was misguided nonetheless. I had two desires operating. One was to perform perfectly and the other to make music. The former was stronger than the latter. I had put the cart before the horse.
Moment #2: A year or so later, a young Dutch woman invited me to join her in a Mozart piece for four hands. Knowing that she was a skilled pianist, I panicked. First I explained that I was an absolute beginner and then that I couldn’t sight-read, but she was not to be deterred. What I didn’t know about her was that she was also an extraordinary teacher. We sat side-by-side at the keyboard and she slowed her pace to my painful picking-out of the notes. Each time I made a mistake, she would say, “Try stretching your finger a little farther,” or “Yes, now play those two notes together.” There was no hint of criticism in her demeanor. She supported me at every turn. Eventually we got to the end of a couple of pages of music and she allowed me to escape. Both of us were all smiles. I don’t remember the piece we played but to this day I recall how she made me feel. She had only said, “Yes.” She never said “No.” She taught by encouragement alone and this allowed me to gradually drop all my fear and hesitation and enter into the spirit of the playing itself.
Moment #3: After 50 years in book publishing, I quit full-time employment on the day my son started work, determined to see what else life had to offer, and a few months later started to study Chinese ink painting, although I had no art training of any kind. I had no idea how difficult it would be but I persevered and three years ago I was invited to teach a beginners’ class. It was then that I remembered something my son had said when he began to teach: “I teach kids the way I wish I had been taught in high school and never was.” The brush painting teachers I’ve studied with were all good artists but not such good teachers. Some didn’t speak English, some were not word people, and others didn’t understand that in the West we not only want to watch how an expert does something but we’d like step-by-step instructions. So I decided that this is how I would proceed. With my eager (adult) students, I never demonstrate anything without describing exactly what I am doing.
Moment #4: When I left high school in the 1950s, although I had a state scholarship I was not offered a place at any of the English universities I applied to. It was difficult in those days for women to gain entrance and particularly women who wanted to study English literature. Science was uppermost in most people’s minds. In the interview and on the application form, I was asked if I wanted to teach and I answered No, because I believed that the reason for going to university was to find out what you did want to do. I didn’t know what I wanted but I was certain I didn’t want to teach. And now, in my seventies here I am teaching after all. As you say, “The Universe has funny ways of doing something and then giggles at your surprise and confusion.”