all in a day's work

I am only beginning to wrap my head around the fact that in three months, I will be leaving Minnesota. I am moving to Washington state to pursue an MFA in creative writing, which is incredibly exciting and exactly what I want to be doing, but it's also very sad to imagine leaving all of my students, friends, and favorite coffee shops. And the Minnesota Opera. And Summit Avenue in springtime. And the Ecopolitan. And, you know, many many things, kids, and people that I love.

It dawned on me yesterday, as I was teaching and encountering a string of write-able events, that when I leave piano teaching, I may not have anything left to write about. Which clearly defeats the purpose of pursuing an MFA. Of course, this just isn't true--there is always something to write about. But this stint as a traveling piano teacher has given me immense opportunity for storytelling.

For example, one of my young voice students, an excitable eight-year-old who loves High School Musical, said to me at the end of her lesson the other day, "Liz, I actually do have a question for you."

"Sure," I said. "What is it?"

She wrinkled her nose. "The song, 'I Won't Grow Up' makes me think of...popcorn."

I raised my eyebrows, not surprised at all that her "question" came in the form of a curious opinion. "Popcorn? That's interesting. Don't you like popcorn?"

"NO," she said definitively. "My mom has wheat allergies, and popcorn makes her tired. So any song that reminds me of popcorn just isn't fun to sing."

I smiled and told her that was just fine, we have plenty of other songs to sing, and that was that.

-------

I left her house to teach a longstanding piano student, an eleven-year-old who (not that I pick favorites) is one of my favorites. She has, however, taken to exhibiting lax practicing habits, which has put a bit of strain on our relationship. She is currently learning about major scales, which is incredibly exciting material for me. I speak in exaggeration exclamation points when teaching her about tetrachords and the circle of fifths. "And there are two tetrachords in every major scale! It's always the same! Just like puzzle pieces! Look, here is a song practicing your major scales!"

At her lesson the other day, when I went off into frantic scale-happy (ionian) mode, she rolled her eyes. "I don't want to play that song," she said.

"But it's called Jumpin' Jazz Cat! Using your Major Scales!"

"Liz," she said, disinterestedly and sounding quite annoyed, "I know this song has nothing to do with jazz or cats."

This same kid, however, quickly became animated when it was time for me to leave. Her mom and I were discussing my upcoming move to Washington, and out of nowhere, the kid stole my keys. "Now you can't leave!" she said, grinning devilishly.

"Lisa, I need my car keys. I'm not leaving for a few months. But right now I have to go to my next lesson. I'll see you next week."

Dejectedly, she looked at her watch and stared at the numbers and the ticking hands. "I'll be watching the clock, "she said.

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Lastly, I have one more story, from that same day. I have a five-year-old piano student who doesn't give two shits about playing the piano. He really, truly just doesn't care. At first, I took it personally and expended massive amounts of energy trying to get him to love piano lessons and learning to read music, but after a while I just gave up. I show up once a week to sit with him and encourage him to sit still long enough to find C Position, and that's about as far as we get.

This week, we were attempting to read some below-the-staff notes. Very, very slowly, he recited the note names by taking complete guesses each time. "Uh...G? C? D?"

I sat still and stared out the window. "No. Nope. No. No, not C. Nope."

"F? E? Um...C?"

"No. Nope."

This continued for a while, and finally I grew irritated. "LOOK at the staff," I growled in angry teacher voice. "THAT'S middle C. One below it is B. One above it is D. It's in ALPHABETICAL ORDER." I was gripping my pencil and smacking his book with the tip. The poor kid was clueless and now also feeling terrible.

Furiously, I scrawled out a worksheet for him on a piece of notebook paper. "HERE," I said, "Practice identifying the notes. Write in the note names."

The kid, with his gigantic brown eyes, silently took the paper and the pencil and stared at it blankly. I crossed my arms and sat back in my chair, a vague feeling of guilt tapping at the soft pump of my heart. I mean, poor kid. He really doesn't care about piano lessons, and here I was, giving him a hard time.

I turned to look at him, huddled over the impromptu worksheet, as he began to tentatively write on the page. I sighed, thinking, "Ah, now he knows what he's doing. That's all it took!"

Then I looked a bit closer. This kid who really truly doesn't give two shits about piano, was starting to write on the page...but as I inspected his markings further, I realized that he was drawing nonsense characters! Not A, B, or C. Not D, E, or F. No! He was drawing these bizarre symbols that weren't letters at all! (By the way, I know that this kid CAN read and write--I have seen it many times before.)

Suddenly, I realized how funny this whole argument was and started to laugh. "What the heck are you drawing, Joey?"

He looked at me with his big eyes and started giggling too. "I don't know," he said.

"Alright. Sorry I was impatient with you. Do you need some help?"

He nodded, and together we worked on the worksheet. I don't think he learned anything, or even that he cares any more about piano.

But sometimes the line between teacher and student is a blurry one, isn't it?