All Those Lessons
I did everything I could to foster my kid's interest in music
Passing Grade 8 piano was the high point.
The relief, not just from the pressure of the exam itself but from the years
of practices and recitals, was thrilling. Of course, it was even better for
my daughter, who actually played the piano.
In fact, music education in our family
was one long, triumphant crescendo. The question is, who got more out of it
-- the kids or me? I'm not just talking about the vicarious pleasure I
swelled up with at my children's recitals. My son can make a tune on the
flute, my daughter sings and plays piano and guitar. Me? I learned about
self-discipline, self-confidence, teamwork, leadership and child psychology.
I met people who are tireless, talented, dedicated and fun. I travelled
across Canada with choir children and hosted visiting musicians from England
and the United States at my home in Toronto. If you believe some people,
music made my kids, and by association me, smarter (Web search "the
Mozart effect"). All this without hanging out in a cold arena!
Truth be told, I dropped out of piano
lessons as a child. And at my school, music was considered a
"bird" course, so I took physics instead. I managed to make it
into adulthood without ever having consciously heard Handel's Messiah or
Fauré's Requiem. For his part, my husband was directed to mouth the words
when his school choir sang so his atonal stylings wouldn't throw everybody
off key. In other words, our family is by no means zealous about the arts.
But my son and daughter, over the years,
were exposed to private music lessons, school band, school choir, church
choir, community choir and Sue Hammond's fabulous Classical Kids series of
recordings. I learned to understand the fuss about the Kiwanis Music
Festival -- a logistical marvel of symphonic proportions. My daughter's name
appears on the credits of numerous recordings, including one with the
world-renowned Canadian Brass, with whom she also appeared on stage.
No wonder I did everything I could to
foster my kids' interest in this amazing world. My part, by comparison, was
easy:
- I made a point of taking the family to
concerts, hanging out at music stores and, of course, attending recitals.
The Jr. Kindergarten rendition of Blue, Stand Up is etched in my heart
forever.
- For the first couple of years my
daughter studied piano, I faithfully joined her at the keyboard for her
daily practices. The pieces she was learning often had lyrics we could sing
together, or we would take turns plunking out the scales. Eventually she
developed her own motivation, and I was no longer needed.
- On holiday travels, our family made a
point of checking out the local music scene. While my son was studying
flute, we practically did a world survey of primitive wind instruments,
which, it turns out, are available shaped like birds, harpoons and fans as
well as the typical tin whistle. My son could toot out the opening bars of
Ode to Joy whether we were in Bolivia, Mexico or Paris.
- I devoted one of my summer holidays to
act as choir chaperone on a tour of Cape Breton, a place I'd always wanted
to visit. Between concerts, we went tidal bore rafting; saw the famous
miners' choir, the Men of the Deeps; and drove the Cabot Trail. I was in awe
of the professionalism of the 27 choristers, who rehearsed rigorously daily
and performed sometimes twice a day for the two weeks we were away.
- I joined a choir myself and discovered
the unique attraction of being bullied by the drill sergeant of the music
world, the choir director.
- Can't forget fundraising. I sold
oranges, poinsettias, magazine subscriptions, wrapping paper and chocolate
almonds. And I learned never to begrudge matching government grants to
children's music organizations. I promise you they deserve it. For every
person who receives some of those tax dollars, a dozen volunteers are behind
the scenes flogging chocolate almonds, organizing silent auctions, washing
cars or grilling hot dogs, typing choir memos, washing shirts, selling
concert tickets, serving juice at concert intermissions and filing music.
This habit of being there for one's
children, I've since learned, falls into the parenting style known as
"high expectation-high support" -- and Walter Gretzky can tell you
all about that. It goes hand in hand with the school of positive
reinforcement.
My daughter's wonderful piano teacher,
Linda, who let me sit in on lessons whenever I wanted, was a master at this.
When I was cringing at missed notes and skipped beats, Linda would praise
the one chord that had rung true before gently reworking the piece.
Positive reinforcement -- you praise
truthfully, not indiscriminately -- is a mainstay of the famous Suzuki
school of music, where the story is told of a lesson involving the founder:
After a child finished an excruciatingly bad performance, there was a long
pause before Dr. Suzuki finally exclaimed enthusiastically, "You
played!"
Whatever playing my children are doing is
out of earshot for me now, and I use the skills of positive reinforcement
and high expectation-high support to train the puppy that has moved into my
empty nest. Bach is on the CD player. - by
Ruth-Ann MacKinnin National
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