I am a young teacher, and this is only my first semester of my first year in a full-time position. But what is my general personality? Students label their teachers all the time: Some are laid back, some are drill sergeants, some are gentle, some are methodical…The best description I could come up with for myself is that I’m a “mother.” My students would laugh at that description but then immediately agree.
First of all, I catch myself trying to do too much for my students. It all began with very good intentions, mind you. I am a very organized, self-motivated person, and I wanted to “enable” my students to be the same. I think many students have never been given the tools, and we “experienced” singers forget to teach our students what those tools are. I gave them a list of accompanists’ names and phone numbers; I put together a “how to practice” handout with tips on practicing, learning music, and memorizing music; I offered to make tapes of notes, text, and accompaniments. But here we are at the end of the semester, and four students still haven’t figured out who will accompany them for juries, a couple have complained that their songs aren’t memorized yet because they “didn’t know how the accompaniment went,” some are still making the same diction mistakes they made four weeks ago, and some don’t know their translations because they “didn’t know where to look.” And where does this leave me? Very frustrated!
The most telling experience of the semester came in early November, during an extra studio class the Sunday prior to a student competition. I had clearly stated one-and-a-half months earlier–both in a meeting and in writing–that all music to be performed must be ready two weeks before the auditions. The second student who got up to sing was a total disaster. I had almost booted him a week earlier, but he was a sweet talker and he had assured me he would have his act together for the studio class. And here he was making a mockery of me. I took a deep breath and counted to ten, then chose to address the entire class about my disappointment, reminding them of the expectations I had outlined six weeks earlier.
At the end of class I told him what I thought about the entire situation, but added, “Against my better judgment, I’m still letting you go to the competition.” I was hoping that he would actually learn something from the experience, since he was known for flying by the seat of his pants. As you can guess, he not only managed to get it all memorized, but his audition went without a hitch. So my plan backfired; instead of teaching him a lesson, I reinforced some really bad habits.
Not all of my “motherly” experiences are bad. I believe I have truly helped some students. Several have thanked me for giving them valuable insights on how to become better sight-readers. Most students truly appreciate that their studio teacher cares, and our relationship is much stronger because of it. One of my students has a lot of trouble with breathing technique, and after talking with her about it, I found out that she has the same problem with the French horn. Now the horn instructor and I are working together to conquer the breathing problem once and for all. Three of my students have varying degrees of TMJ (Temporomandibular Joint Disorder), and only one of them has ever discussed it with a doctor. I have little knowledge on the subject, so I got on the Internet and found some wonderful websites created by doctors. I was able to direct the students to the information, and e-mail one of the doctors to ask for suggestions on how to work with singers.
I think all teachers have experienced the feeling of “maternal” or “paternal” pride one gets from a well-done student performance. For instance, at our university, we have “student recitals” each semester, public performances in which students of any instrument can perform. I was surprised this semester when a few students whom I assumed did not want to perform asked to do so. I was probably almost as nervous as they were. It is one thing to put an experienced, advanced student up there; if he makes a mistake, he’ll live and learn from it. But these students were all fragile in ability and especially in ego. If they fell apart in front of everyone, it could take months to restore their confidence. I decided to take a chance and let them go for it, and all three performed as well as they or I could have hoped. After the performance I was beaming with pride, anxious to let everyone know that “those are MY students!”
I try very hard to restrict most of my teaching activity to weekdays, so that evening and weekend time can be spent with my family. Of course, this technique doesn’t allow much time for Lisa, the performer. I really have to work hard to find time for myself and my performing, and part of the way I do that is to remind myself that my students gain a lot from me as an active performer.
I have learned so much in just one semester of full-time teaching. Growth as a teacher is a given, but I know that I also have a lot to learn about how I relate to my students. Some aspects of my “motherly” instinct have got to go. Overall, though, I realize that maybe such a description isn’t so bad after all.
