Practice

In an attempt to bring music to the forefront of positive attention in this dying economy, one in which music is one of the first things declared “unnecessary” by schools, I sent out a quick survey to my fellow educators. I was asking them questions about their experience in music. Did you play an instrument? Do you sing? Where are you now, musically? etc. etc.

The answers were interesting. Besides finding out that I work with three other oboe players (what are the chances?), and that pep band is the only experience with live music known by most of my non-musical colleagues (that’s another blog entirely – the death of non-pop music…), I’ve heard many other stories. Stories of people whose choir directors told them not to sing, just to mouth along – that’s a shot to the ol’ self-esteem! Stories of people who wished they’d been given the chance to learn an instrument, but whose parents couldn’t afford it. But the most poignant this moment are the stories of people who hated practicing.

It matters this moment because right next to me, at this very moment, “Zeke” is practicing for tomorrow’s piano lesson. Is he enjoying it? Not particularly. Is he enjoying me? Not a bit.

I’ve become that typical Mom from bad TV shows. “No! Play those notes shorter! Slow down! Try it again!” Blah, blah, blah.

I do know better. If he weren’t my kid, I could guide him through a practice session, never losing my cool, never raising my voice, never harping. But with my own dear son …

Patience. I need to show more patience. And understanding. Oh, yeah, and better yet, encouragement.

I know practice is worth it. My colleagues who hated practicing as students themselves know that practicing is worth it. Even Zeke himself knows that practicing is worth it. He’s seen the results. That moment when everything just clicks and a piece is no longer work, no longer filled with struggle, no longer requiring every ounce of concentration. He knows. I know.

Patience, Mom. He’ll stop goofing around at the keyboard eventually. So he sits a little longer – so what? Understanding, Mom. Yes, he’s the son of two musicians. That doesn’t mean he has to be perfect straight out of the gate. Encouraging, Mom. He needs to be told what he’s doing right, that’s he’s making progress, that you still love him, despite wrong notes, wrong rhythms, and wrong articulations. He needs to be reminded that practice can be fun too. That getting there is sometimes the best part of the trip.

Mom, you’ve got to be both teacher and mother here. Patient, understanding, encouraging, and most of all loving. You want him to love music. The art. The challenge. All of these, as well as the final product.