The Need for an Alternative: From Fantasy to Reality Myths
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Joey’s First Concert Joey is getting ready to go to a concert with his parents. He’s never been to a concert before, nor, for that matter, has he had much musical exposure other than songs he hears on the radio and CD’s. At home there is a piano and a guitar with a string missing. No one plays either one. His parents don’t sing to him at night, certainly not. “I have a tin ear,” his mother giggles. “Yep, we don’t want to scare away the cats!” offers his dad agreeably. But now his parents are acting as though this concert is going to be exciting and Joey is feeling excited, too. They all agree that he may wear his suit, the one he’s only worn once, to Aunt Clara’s wedding. Concerts must be pretty important. Joey and his parents arrive at the hall, with its tiered and ornate balconies – Spectacular! The lights go down, the murmur of the audience recedes into expectant silence and the violinist strides confidently onto the stage followed by her accompanist. A burst of applause! Joey stretches up to whisper in his mother’s ear. “Is that her bodyguard?” She squeezes his hand. “No, Sugarplum, he’s going to play the piano for her.” “Oh,” says Joey, disappointed. As he sits wondering whether it should bother him that his mother still calls him Sugarplum – after all, he’s already six and a half – the violinist begins to play. Joey feels the very first note quiver right through his bones. The silver tones dance above the shimmering piano accompaniment. Imagine – such a little instrument with four strings can do that! The sequins on the violinist’s dress glitter as she sways to the music, arching her bow gracefully over the strings. Joey shuts his eyes and sees a celestial wonderland of glittering moons and shooting stars. He dreams on, now a flower garden, fireflies. He is far away. The hush of the audience swells to the final chord, and then – thunderous applause. It is over. Joey is breathless, his heart beating rapidly. Returning home, Joey feels different. He can’t put his finger on it. This music has touched him in a way that nothing ever has. His senses tingle with a new sensation and hunger for more of this wonder drug. He must stay connected to this feeling, but how? Joey knows already. It’s obvious. He must learn to play the violin! At home Joey talks endlessly about the concert and spends hours standing in front of the mirror pretending to play. Days turn to weeks and still he begs his parents for lessons. Impressed with their son’s persistence and enthusiasm, and wanting to do what’s best for him, his parents look for a violin teacher. Same Room, Different Planets At the first lesson Joey is excited, maybe a little nervous, not quite knowing how this will work, but hopeful. The memory of that violinist in the concert hall is still fresh in his mind, and has become a tingling in his heart. Mrs. Elgurts has a different take on all of this. She is eager to get down to business. Her job, as she sees it, is to take this child from zero step by step along a progression of skill learning that will lead to some level of proficiency on the instrument. When a child gets excited about music, say after hearing a great performer or piece, he is excited about the impression as a whole. Is this child capable of understanding what lessons are about? That to submit to the structure of a traditional violin lesson is to say good-bye to that feeling of being inspired and moved for a long, long time? Is he aware of the hours, months, years of practicing that he will need to put in before he can even approach that feeling of enchantment that so inspired him in the first place, that is, if he ever gets there? Of course not! Music is food for the soul, and when the soul has an appetite for one thing, it is unlikely to be sated with a substitute. So it comes to pass that Joey and Mrs. Elgurts are in the same room, but on two totally different planets. The child is basking in the whole; the teacher is thinking of how to divide the whole into teachable packages. The child is going with a feeling, the teacher is analyzing with her head. The child is anticipating something magical; the teacher is ready to buckle down. How can such a combination possibly work? It’s amazing that these two don’t actually come to blows! Conclusion: When skills are chopped into fragments, the child loses the initial impression of the whole and its excitement. The fragments – so well understood by the teacher in terms of their place in progress based learning – are all but incomprehensible to a young child. Joey is neither able nor encouraged to connect them back to the whole, and the lesson loses its relevance for him. He loses motivation, disengages and plods lethargically – or resentfully – along until his confused and frustrated parents allow him to quit, discouraged and disillusioned, but relieved. And no one - not Joey, his parents, or even the teacher - understands what really went wrong.
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© Meryl Danziger 2004