Now that we’ve got some nicer weather back for a bit (it was pretty cold and gross there for a week or so), I feel like the creative juices are flowing once again in my studio.  Students have been coming in with new songs they learned just for fun, songs they memorized, a tricky spot they finally worked out, and pieces from school orchestra that they were trying to figure out.  It was the same story every time.  They bounded in with an ear-to-ear smile and could hardly stand it until they gushed about the new amazing thing they had worked on this week.  One student came in and when I asked what they were so excited about they simply said “Guess what?  I practiced!”…I felt the urge to let out an exasperated wail, but stifled it and said “Terrific!  Now, wouldn’t it be nice to feel like this at every lesson?”  Their excitement was infectious.  Even the “practicer” roped me into the giddiness of having had a successful week of preparation and looking forward to the next half-hour in a way they haven’t before.  However, what the student expected from tonight’s lesson and what actually happened were two different things.

I distinctly remember one lesson when I was in high school which I went into with the same elation as my students had this evening.  I had mustered the discipline and was determined to get my parents off my back for a week and actually practice like I was supposed to.  Maybe it was a New Year’s Resolution, I can’t remember, but I went into my lesson feeling like the very picture of preparation and expecting the next forty-five minutes of my life to blissfully breeze by as my teacher sang my praises for being such a model student and playing so well.  Boy, was I wrong.  I finished my etude and stood there with a satisfied look on my face which gradually disintegrated into disappointment as I realized there were not going to be any statues erected in my honor.  My teacher simply said “Good!  Now let’s get to work…” and went on to point out my first weak point.  That was it, just a “good”?  Didn’t my teacher know how hard I’d worked to earn that “good”?  And furthermore, did it even matter?  Did my teacher even care?  Looking back, I’m absolutely sure my teacher knew how hard I’d worked and did care, but I’m also sure it was thrilling to have an opportunity to actually work with me for a week instead of listen to me practice.  I hadn’t earned any medals or the writing of epic poems by diligently practicing that week.  I’d earned a solid lesson to kick myself into gear for the next week, and the next, and the next after that.  I put in my time, and now it was my teacher’s turn to hold up the other end of the deal.

The more I teach, the more I understand how education is really a symbiotic relationship.  Teachers can only teach as much as their students allow themselves to learn.  When a student comes unprepared to a lesson, the teacher has to spend time cleaning up last week’s mess and doesn’t have the same opportunity to push the student to the next level as they do when the student comes prepared.  The same was true of my students this evening.  For some, hearing them play tonight was a breath of fresh air.  Finally we would be able to start the ascent from the plateau we’ve been on lately, or finally they were ready to handle a more advanced technique.  I saw the same look of satisfaction disappear as I caught myself saying “Nice job!  Ok, let’s go back to measure four”.  The shine in my students eyes quickly vacated and I could almost hear the “Seriously?  That’s it?” that was written all over their faces.  I didn’t make the connection until my third student, and then I hurt for them because I knew exactly how they were feeling.  However I also felt a great deal of sympathy for my former teacher finally truly understanding how it must have felt that afternoon.  While I greatly admire and respect different approaches to this type of situation I’ve observed, I thought about how some of my other teachers have responded.  While none of them have written me that epic poem, some have been more generous with commendation than others.  They began by remarking on what they were pleased with in the performance, especially if it had been a point of consternation in previous weeks, but they also made it clear that because I gave them something to work with they were now going to give me more to work on.  I really like this approach because it still recognizes that the student worked hard and did well, but reminds them that they haven’t ultimately done anything extraordinary in the grand scheme of things.  It may be extraordinary considering their track record, but in reality all they’ve done is what is expected of them.  While every student and situation is different, I think I’m realizing that the key to finding the happy medium between these two approaches is to respond to the student in such a way that makes them want to continue to meet and try to exceed your expectations each week.  Because isn’t that why we do what we do?

“Teacher-y Tidbit”- Find the happy medium that works for you and your students and always be clear about what you expect.  There are few things more discouraging than trying to meet expectations that are constantly elusive.  In addition, help students understand what they can expect from your lessons and rehearsals so that they can be equal members of your educational symbiosis as much as possible.