Small favors

I made peace with the fact that I will never have the powerhouse music program.... kind of...  Well, actually, I've made peace with it, but when programs around me are going off to compete every weekend for four months, and selling thousands of boxes of candy bars to pay for trips to Hawaii - it's kind of hard not to feel the pull.  I am also aware of when my students and their families feel the pull.  Furthermore, I know what the directors of the aforementioned programs sacrifice in order to have those powerhouse programs.  Case in point - I give you a paraphrased Facebook status on this fine Christmas Eve:

Home alone on Christmas with my pets but feeling thankful for all my former students and to the career I gave everything to! Wishing you all a Merry Christmas!

Closer to home:  My choir-teaching associate is spending part of his break writing papers for his masters (unavoidable) and the rest of it fussing over the details of the Europe trip he's taking with his singers in February.

This morning I woke up late and had a pillow fight with my son.  Then we lost ourselves in the day.  It's pushing 7 p.m., and we're still in our pajamas.

Your honor, the defense rests.

Football epiphanies

At tonight's varsity football game:  Had a conversation with a football parent in which she chastised me (as politely as possible) for not playing more at the games.  I tried to explain that the football regulations prevent high school bands from playing just any time they want, but she wasn't having any of it.  We managed to walk away on fairly friendly terms, but the exchange did kind of bother me for the rest of the night.

A couple of things occurred to me:  1)  I tend to have these conversations more when the team is losing.  Apparently, band needs share the blame when NRHS is down by a couple of touchdowns.  2) This woman wasn't really arguing for what was best for the team - she was arguing for what was best for the fans.

It took me a while to recognize the second one.  It didn't really hit me until she told me that I waited too long to play the fight song after a touchdown.  I responded with "Well... that's a direct request from the coaches.  They want to be able to concentrate on getting the extra point without the band blaring in the players' ears.  Every band waits for the conversion."  She looked me in the eye and said "The crowd is bored by then... it's too late"

I didn't know what to say to that.  I thought hiding behind the coaches skirts would be safe enough... apparently not.  Clearly, this is a culture that pretends to idolize the team, but puts the biggest priority in the stands. 

I have often times been envious of the glory bestowed upon the football team - it never really occurred to me that with all of that attention comes immense pressure, along with a political jungle that makes the Amazon look like my grandmother's herb garden.  The more prestigious the program, the less autonomy you actually have as a coach/director... and the less freedom you have just to be... well.. you.  It's times like this that I think a little obscurity suits me just fine.

The guardian at the gate

In my last post, I said that I was going to try and turn over a new leaf and be less of an asshole to kids that pissed me off.  Today I kind of failed, although I'm not sure I feel bad about it.

I railed on a middle schooler who had grabbed another kid's backpack and... well... tried to run out the door.  I could tell by the look on the other kids face that this was not just horseplay between friends - this kid was being bullied.  I got to the door first.  I was not soft spoken about my displeasure.  I told him that he was to give the backpack back, and never to try something like that in my classroom again.  I told him that if this was his idea of fun, that he had no place in the music program.  We treat each other better here.

He gave the backpack back and walked away.  I don't expect to see him again.

The offender was a kid on my roll sheet. Was. I didn't kick him out - he was a kid who had been misplaced in my band.  (After years of my pleading, you would think the counselors would check with me before enrolling kids in my classes.  At least they could remember that guitar has no place in a wind band.)  We were waiting for his class schedule to be re-processed, and for him to be switched into my beginning class to learn a proper band instrument.  That was the plan.  Unbeknownst to me - he had already gone to his counselor to be switched into digital arts, instead.  And while I had resolved myself to work with him, even though I could tell that band was not his "thing", I think it may have been for the best.  

I couldn't help but wonder if my reaction wasn't fueled in part by my own childhood experiences.  I was the kid who had his backpack (and other belongings) taken and stuffed God-knows-where around campus. Was I bringing down swift justice, or was I wreaking vengeance in the name of the offenses committed against a 13-year-old me?

Take note.  File it.  Carry on.  In the mean time, I have my village and my peoples.  I tolerate no brigands at the gate.

A different filter

Some years ago I gave up my AP music theory class to go back to teaching Beginning Band.  Not by choice, per se... the principal at the time was intent on pushing kids with no playing experience into my concert band, and I figured that it would be better to put them into a separate class where I could bring them up from scratch, rather than try to drag them along with more advanced players.  This meant going from working with (mostly) sophisticated juniors and seniors to (mostly) 7th and 8th grade boys. 

Within a few years I came to regard that class as my 'bad' class, because there was a much higher percentage of kids who were just thrown in there by the counselors - some of which who had no desire to pick up an instrument, and a few who made it their mission to destroy the class however possible.  It didn't take long before my general 'mission statement' became: "Make these kids so miserable that they never want to come back to my class.  Ever."  At the same time, I wondered why I couldn't get my enrollment in the band program up.  That's the thing about trying to discourage select students - you usually end up discouraging *all* the students.

I took a look at my syllabus and realized that it might as well have had "Abandon All Hope All ye Who Enter Here" stamped on it.  Everything was a warning.... or a threat.  I had forgotten that kids join band because they think it will be fun.  I did, anyways.

So this year I decided that I didn't want to be that guy anymore.  I welcomed the kids into class, and tried to engage them as if I expected them to be my favorite class.  Turns out they were a bunch of really sweet kids, or at least they appeared so (you teacher types know that things have a way of changing after the honeymoon wears off).  Did I get lucky this year, or is it just that I'm making a change?

I'm going to run with it, nonetheless.

The best thing I did all Summer.

I have had many proud moments as a staff member at Bear Mountain Music Camp.  Most of them have to do with some musical magic that I managed to pull off with a group that was somewhat less experienced than they should have been.  This time it was admitting a mistake to someone who deserved better than what they got from me. 

The mistake actually wasn't mine, but I supported it nonetheless.  When the wind auditions were over and done with, the honor of playing 2nd Clarinet with the orchestra was handed to a student who was less capable than what the auditioner had anticipated.  The girl who *should* have gotten the coveted spot said nothing, even when it became obvious that the part had been mis-assigned.  She remained with the band, and even proved to be a valuable leader and mentor to the younger players.  And those of us who could have corrected the situation, but didn't?  We also said nothing, hoping that the 2nd Clarinetist would pull himself up by his bootstraps and take care of business.  We though he would.  We were wrong.

It would have been easy to just keep saying nothing, but I decided that the true and rightful Clarinetist deserved some kind of explanation.  Granted, I waited until the day before the concert, when it was far too late to do anything, but she at least deserved an acknowledgement.  I pulled her aside, told her that it was our mistake, and told her how much I appreciated that she pushed through anyway and showed herself to be a great leader.  I apologized profusely and promised her that she deserved better.  She smiled with satisfaction and said "It's Okay". It really wasn't okay... not for me, anyway, but it think it speaks even more to her character that she was gracious about it.  It was a good moment for us.

Some teachers think that having to apologize to a student makes you weak in their eyes.  Sometimes, it makes you stronger.

Wait... What?

Dear Mr. Pushy Parent -

I told you at the end of last year that both of our spots for jazz drummers were already taken, but that I'd be glad to listen to your son play and give him some feedback.  I'm not sure how that translated into "Yes, I'll take your son - please contact his counselor and have him enrolled."  Now we have to go through the trouble of dropping him off the roster - and I am expecting a rather volatile response to the e-mail I just sent you.

It's okay, I knew the job was dangerous when I took it.

Signed, Maestro.

A throne best left empty

The youth orchestra I work for has been dying a slow death for years now.  The rapid increase of independent orchestras in the area has been slowly draining our enrollment.  I was actually surprised that we had enough people to make it work this year.  Next year... well, saying it looks grim would be an understatement.  It's pretty much confirmed that unless something changes, there won't be a next year for this group.  One of those changes involves *me* becoming the primary conductor of the top ensemble.

As it turns out, not only is the business manager (who is the only staff member with more seniority than me) retiring at the end of the season, but both the primary conductor of the top ensemble *and* his assistant will be leaving to go work on graduate degrees.  The only remaining founding staff member has become more of a figure head as of late, and no longer makes administrative decisions. That leaves me.  And while they haven't formally asked me to take the reigns... I know it's coming.

I've been on staff with this group for over a decade.  I've travelled around the world with them, and performed in some of the best venues you can find.  And while I've been a true and loyal servant to the organization - I've never quite been management material.  I've helped provide rehearsal space, equipment and performance venues.  Outside of that, I like to show up and conduct.  I have shared the podium of the top ensemble with many people, but I've never been *the* guy, and I've not been part of any of the administrative decisions.  And now, it falls to me to be the torch bearer.  That is - if the organization is to survive.

The problem is, I don't really see survival in the cards.  Extinction, after all, is a naturally occurring event.  Trying to keep the organization alive would require me to give it far more attention than I can afford, especially now that Principal Janeway is expecting me to take my program at New Republic High School to the next level.  And to be sure, I have a very clear understanding that my primary commitment is to NRHS.  The other problem is that I can *not* take any more time away from my family.... not if I want to stay married.

Are there reasons to go through with it?  Sure.  I like the extra cash, and I'd like the opportunity to work on repertoire more advanced than what I can do at NRHS.  Also, a lot of the existing members will probably want to continue.

This is really a no-brainer - I'm just thinking out loud to prepare myself for the inevitable "no" that I'm going to have to give at the end of the season.

Find Yours

I had a big project that called me back to school no less than six days during my Winter break.  Yes, it was unavoidable.  No, I didn't do it alone.  Yes, I dragged my son along.  No, he wasn't the help I spoke of.

A good number of students showed up to help out.  One of them, my top drummer, actually showed up on four different days.  The first two days he occupied himself with the relocation, care and maintenance of the drum equipment.  Like... *all* of the drum equipment.  After that he just... ah... kind of hung out.  He did a little playing, but he also helped out doing other stuff.  I was a bit surprised to see him show up after all the drum stuff had been squared away.

Now, before I get into the next bit, I have to tell you that when I say this kid is my top drummer, I mean he is the *best* drummer I have ever worked with (which, given the talent I've seen over the years, is saying something).  He is also one of the best students I've had.  Period.  He's that magical combination of ability, artistry, humility, loyalty, responsibility, creativity, initiative and leadership.  Seriously, like... if I ever wanted to clone a kid... well, you get the idea.  Given that his skills are far more developed than the majority of the music students at NRHS... I've always been a little worried that he would get bored with the program and quit.  He's now in his senior year, and he's more productive than ever.  I consider myself lucky.... very lucky... that he's still active and contributing in his Senior year.

So anyway, he shows up just as I'm managing to put down the overload of plastic bags that I had just brought in from my car.  I look at him and say "Wow, Tom... I think you finished up all the drum stuff like two days ago.  Why did you come in today?"

He shrugged and said "This is my happy place."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the *perfect* boost for my New Year :-)