A MUSIC LE he ABCs of Do R Mi
Do Re Mi by Angie Aldarondo Angie Aldarondo
A MUSIC LESSON The AB
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Tom.” Just 13, he speaks thoughtfully with the cadence and maturity of an adult. However, I diagnose some vocal problems. He is hoarse and strains to hit the higher notes. The sound is tight, raspy and off-key. He doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself. When I tell him about the student recital in a few months, he pauses and then says, “Umm, no thanks. I’m good.” I’m fl oored, not expecting this response. The way I was taught, a student does whatever the instructor says. Always. That lesson, like the next couple of months, doesn’t see much growth. Neither Tom nor I feel successful. By April, Tom and I have just started to understand one another. A tenuous relationship has begun to form, and I’m starting to feel a little hopeful. I have since learned that his parents recently divorced and that he enjoys oldies like Sam Cooke. His wit and humor have begun to show. There has not been another mention of the spring performance. One day before the lesson begins, Tom stands before me, shuffl ing his feet and looking down. “So,” he says, “About this recital. What would happen if I decided to perform?” I’m surprised, but immediately reign in my excitement, not wanting to topple this moment over like a house of cards. “Well, that would be great. Do
A
t his fi rst voice lesson, he saunters in casually, shakes my hand and says, “Hey. I’m
you want to?” Tom explains that he’s thinking about it, but that the last time he performed, it was a disaster. What if this time is just as awful? What if he makes a horrible sound when he tries to sing? He says he’s worried what his father will think if he messes up. Then he mentions he’s worried what I’ll think. Whoa. Suddenly I see the momentous opportunity before me. I take a breath and say, “Tom. If you perform, I will be so proud of you for doing it even though you’re scared. And if you don’t perform, I will be so proud of you because you’ve made great progress and have worked really hard. Whether or not you perform will have no effect on how I see you or think about you. I’ll still respect you. I’ll still think you’re an awesome kid.” In the brief moment of silence that
follows, I watch his face, wondering what he’ll say. He looks at me and I see his shoulders relax just the tiniest bit. “Well,” he says. “I’ll think about it.” Fast-forward to May: Tom is singing Sam Cooke’s “Cupid” in front of an audience of parents and peers. He is on-key. He is not hoarse. He’s smiling, and... enjoying himself. Suddenly, there’s a hiccup and he forgets the words. A split-second later he’s back on track and fi nishes the song with a fl ourish and a bow. He tells me afterwards, “I think I did a good job.” At the end of our fi nal lesson for the season, Tom shyly gives me a card. Inside
24 Central Florida natural awakenings
it says, “I appreciate all you have done for me in voice and for talking with me and lifting my spirits when I was down, and telling me that I did good even if I thought I didn’t. Thanks, Tom.” As a teacher, that card was my A+ moment. Sir Kenneth Robinson, a British educator and author of The Element: How Finding Your Passion Changes Everything says: “Education doesn’t need to be reformed—it needs to be transformed. The key to this transformation is not to standardize education, but to personalize it, to build achievement on discovering the individual talents of each child, to put students in an environment where they want to learn and where they can naturally discover their true passions.” In Tom’s case, this personalized approach was the key to leading him to an emotional place where he had the confi dence to perform. I could have lectured him and said that he had no choice and that even failing would build character. Long ago that’s what I was told. Instead, I decided to look at what I knew of Tom: a kid whose parents had just split, and, like most kids, probably blaming himself. Highly intelligent and very sensitive, he felt weird compared to his friends because he likes to sing. He was going through puberty, so his voice was cracking and emotions were running high. What would a kid like that need? More than anything: to know he’s okay. To know that an adult’s love and acceptance are not conditional on whether or not he succeeds at something. To know that he has my respect. On this last point, some might disagree. Why would an adult need to tell a child he or she is respected? While it is true that children should show respect to the adults in their lives, adults must reciprocate if they expect their efforts to be effective. All people, from children to adults, learn better when they feel safe, appreciated and understood. Additionally, those students who are facing unique challenges such as divorce, depression, poverty, loss of a loved one, or any other myriad of stressors, have
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