An ode to music teachers
When I arrived home from work on Wednesday night, Mimi was sobbing on the couch while J consoled her.
"Mama, I have very bad news," she said between tears. "Mr. P..." (more sobbing) "... is leaving the school at the end of the year." She was really beside herself. Mr. P, her music teacher, was her favorite teacher this year -- he's one of those young, very enthusiastic teachers whose passion about the arts is contagious.
We were able to cheer Mimi up with a trip to a favorite playground that evening. But I feel Mimi's pain. Once upon a time I had my very own favorite music teacher...
Middle school was a rough time for me, and in many ways 8th grade was the hardest year of them all. I was teased unmercifully by a pack of mean, popular girls, and was sometimes even ostracized by the small group of "friends" that I socialized with.
But I had one thing going for me. I was a member of the school's elite chorus group. I'd auditioned at the beginning of the school year, never expecting to make the cut -- but was shocked and thrilled to see my name on that short list.
The chorus director, Mr. G, was one of the most liked teachers in the school. Like Mimi's Mr. P, he was young, hip, and passionate about music. Mr. G was an avid fan of the Beatles, and actually taught an entire unit on the Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album. He was an accomplished pianist, and would spontaneously burst into song during breaks in music class or chorus practice.
But while those things were all great, I loved Mr. G because his expectations for me were simple. He had no preconceived notions of the shy, self-conscious person tormented by classmates, or the brainy student who would experience disapproval if she didn't live up to the academic teachers' expectations. When I was in chorus, I just had to sing to make Mr. G happy.
When the chorus group was first formed, I could not understand why Mr. G seemed to count me among his favorites. Typically his strongest praise went to the most talented singers -- like Sue with her beautiful soprano voice or Beth with her lilting alto. I didn't have a particularly strong or lovely voice.
But over time I began to realize why Mr. G appreciated me. One day our group was reading through a new piece for the first time: a historical song with difficult harmonies. Although Mr. G kept playing the soprano part on the piano, most of the other girls in my section could not seem to get the notes and rhythm correct. But I was a good sight-reader, and once I heard the melody a couple of times, I had it nailed.
During our third take, Mr. G abruptly looked up from the piano, blew me a kiss, and said, "Bravo, Nancy!" Later, he asked me to sing a duet with the strongest alto to demonstrate the correct interpretation of the soprano part. I'm sure my voice was shaky with self-consciousness, but I'm proud to say that I nailed the harmony. And the smile from Mr. G kept me glowing for at least a week.
I learned something important that day, a lesson that remains etched in my perfectionistic soul (and which I turn to repeatedly when my constant striving for A+ makes me weary). We can't all be superstars, but everyone can be a valued member of the team.
Sadly, my singing career fizzled out after 8th grade. I wanted to continue taking orchestra and art, which left no time for additional electives. I was resigned to watching the high school chorus from backstage or from the orchestra pit.
I didn't mind too much, though. Thanks to Mr. G, I knew I would always be a singer.
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