Yesterday I
folded up my music stand—yes, I kept one for myself—loosened my bow, stuck a damp
humidifier into my violin and closed the case.
It wasn’t exactly a ceremony, but it was memorable. The simple routine marked the end of 30 years that I had shared as “Teacher Kathie” with nearly 700 mischievous, endearing, maddeningly gifted young
people.
Beautiful music is nice. Teaching is fun. But I love those kids. To even the most casual observor, though, love may seem an unlikely result of the whole violin process. I know the feeling of being associated with the enemy. ("I hate violin, Mommmmmy. I hate music. I hate practicing. I hate lessons!” does not hold great prospects for the teacher.) But through it all I've had the wonderful opportunity of becoming a permanent fixture to a whole crowd of kids and their families, inspite of it all. I am sure one of the reasons I love teaching violin is the challenge of using such an irrational, frustrating project to forge the best of friendships. Every time I’ve helped an uncooperative instrument and an eager, awkward kid accomplish something good together, I have made a special, young friend and a precious memory...
I remember the Sunday morning Lauren came kicking and screaming to my studio door—in her mother’s locked arms—still in her pink nightgown, absolutely adamant she would not attend her lesson, do violin, practice ever again. So much for stubbornness. If “Face to Face” is the theme hymn for all those you love, Lauren, and the melody for all our performances together over the last 15 years, it’s also the story of the deepest kind of heart music I ever wished for you. God will make that song real for you some day…and you will see Grandpa Owen again.
I remember the third lesson in a row that little Dominique curled up in the corner of my studio behind the parents’ chair, screaming hysterically while I took her dad out to the entryway and explained how to teach her violin for another week. So much for overwhelm. Your solo concerto with your school orchestra was superb, Dominique.
I remember a blur of lessons with you, Tommy, that stretched into our family supper time as I bent down from my teacher’s stool to eyeball you, because you did not agree with how a bow should be held. So much for stubbornness. We have the evidence. Your mother has a photo of your bow hold somewhere deep in her files that you need to show Itzhak and see what side of the argument he comes down. You’ve achieved unbelievable successes in music. Your greatest success, though, will always be in how your life honors God and blesses others.
I remember the utter relief we felt not long ago, Ivanna, when we all finally understood. I remember the years of wiggly feet that could curiously wrap around each other. And the eyes that wandered to the trees outside my window, looking for the bird you could hear singing. I remember the puzzled look on your face when I “caught you” with a question you hadn’t even heard. So much for years of slow progress. It was OK, though, because we were hanging in there until you could get the help you needed to focus. All the music in you suddenly came together and came out, like the birdsongs that distracted you. God has known all along how much music has been waiting inside you...and how well He can use the extraordinary music in your heart.
I remember Skype lessons from Montana, Kaitlyn. Watching the bow jerk across the computer screen and hearing the broken scrape of the bow through satellite signals is not a violin teacher's dream. But it was precious, endearing time with you to walk through numbered measures or fingering or note names to unearth what made the song hard--and what would help you enjoy a new melody. So much for distance. It kept our hearts together. Over our three years on Skype, I could end every lesson so naturally with, “I love you, Kaitlyn.”
I remember the contract I wrote for you to sign, Lauren. It seemed the only reasonable way to continue violin in the face of petrifying recitals, friends who seemed to play so easily and songs that just didn’t sound right to you. So much for results. I may have been out of the country when you married the guy next to you in orchestra who had a better violin than you did, but I shared in the joy. Shar’s Fine Instrument department did their best to match the tone of your violin to his, didn’t they? If you ever forget what brought you together, get out your instruments...and practice!
Speaking of weddings, Paul. I remember leaving my church a little early one Sabbath so I could be at your wedding ceremony across town and play Lover’s Waltz at the end of a deeply spiritual, moving service. If anyone questions a fiddling number in church, how else does a guy celebrate God’s leading in his heart that prompts him to propose to his stand partner with a solitary rendition of “Lover’s Waltz?" How creative of you, then, to plead with her to play the duet with you for the rest of her life! I hope it's gentle harmony reminds you both how much you need Him to help you play in beautiful, lifelong ensemble.
I could go on and on...with memories for each one of "my kids." Of tear streaks on violin varnish. Of “broken” strings and scissors. Of Suzuki books criss-crossed with tire tracks and practice guides overwritten with scathing declarations. Of scale books that lost their covers--and the bad words that were written on them. Learning violin can be hard.
But it can also be discovery. Accomplishment. Success. Getting through “Mary Had A Little Lamb” or Monti’s “Czardas.” Holding a solid chin grip or hearing the wobble of a beginning vibrato. Deciphering those mysterious notes or creating a song. Playing your first gig and collecting that first check. The memories are not just mine, I know. Don't forget how great it was to have your name drawn for a Stringshop door prize. Or to twirl those slippery gypsy scarves. To perform barefoot on the stage of the Howard Center. To survive playing a beach wedding in sand-biting wind. Or to collapse in air conditioning after fiddling at the St. Joseph art show.
Violin is about high hurdles and sweet satisfaction, about hard things becoming easier. I'm amazed at what can take place in the little bit of time we shared together each week and what gets accomplished after a year, or two, or ten. Look, Michael, at what you've done in the past sixteen years! But maybe it's not that amazing after all...
Because in the shadows behind all those lessons and group rehearsals, recitals and StringShop concerts--along every step of the way--is always a tenacious mom, a supportive dad, a highly interested grandma or grandpa who has made the real investment and helped it all happen: The one who should stand and bow at the end of the performance.
I have learned, no matter how thorough my teaching or how motivating I am, success is in the hands of a strong parent like Julia who says to a discouraged teen, “Look, Mutungi, you will not skip out of Teacher Kathie's last recital. You will play 'La Folia' too. And. I will let you drive my car.”
Sometimes that’s how it happens.
Beautiful music is nice. Teaching is fun. But I love those kids. To even the most casual observor, though, love may seem an unlikely result of the whole violin process. I know the feeling of being associated with the enemy. ("I hate violin, Mommmmmy. I hate music. I hate practicing. I hate lessons!” does not hold great prospects for the teacher.) But through it all I've had the wonderful opportunity of becoming a permanent fixture to a whole crowd of kids and their families, inspite of it all. I am sure one of the reasons I love teaching violin is the challenge of using such an irrational, frustrating project to forge the best of friendships. Every time I’ve helped an uncooperative instrument and an eager, awkward kid accomplish something good together, I have made a special, young friend and a precious memory...
I remember the Sunday morning Lauren came kicking and screaming to my studio door—in her mother’s locked arms—still in her pink nightgown, absolutely adamant she would not attend her lesson, do violin, practice ever again. So much for stubbornness. If “Face to Face” is the theme hymn for all those you love, Lauren, and the melody for all our performances together over the last 15 years, it’s also the story of the deepest kind of heart music I ever wished for you. God will make that song real for you some day…and you will see Grandpa Owen again.
I remember the third lesson in a row that little Dominique curled up in the corner of my studio behind the parents’ chair, screaming hysterically while I took her dad out to the entryway and explained how to teach her violin for another week. So much for overwhelm. Your solo concerto with your school orchestra was superb, Dominique.
I remember a blur of lessons with you, Tommy, that stretched into our family supper time as I bent down from my teacher’s stool to eyeball you, because you did not agree with how a bow should be held. So much for stubbornness. We have the evidence. Your mother has a photo of your bow hold somewhere deep in her files that you need to show Itzhak and see what side of the argument he comes down. You’ve achieved unbelievable successes in music. Your greatest success, though, will always be in how your life honors God and blesses others.
I remember the utter relief we felt not long ago, Ivanna, when we all finally understood. I remember the years of wiggly feet that could curiously wrap around each other. And the eyes that wandered to the trees outside my window, looking for the bird you could hear singing. I remember the puzzled look on your face when I “caught you” with a question you hadn’t even heard. So much for years of slow progress. It was OK, though, because we were hanging in there until you could get the help you needed to focus. All the music in you suddenly came together and came out, like the birdsongs that distracted you. God has known all along how much music has been waiting inside you...and how well He can use the extraordinary music in your heart.
I remember Skype lessons from Montana, Kaitlyn. Watching the bow jerk across the computer screen and hearing the broken scrape of the bow through satellite signals is not a violin teacher's dream. But it was precious, endearing time with you to walk through numbered measures or fingering or note names to unearth what made the song hard--and what would help you enjoy a new melody. So much for distance. It kept our hearts together. Over our three years on Skype, I could end every lesson so naturally with, “I love you, Kaitlyn.”
I remember the contract I wrote for you to sign, Lauren. It seemed the only reasonable way to continue violin in the face of petrifying recitals, friends who seemed to play so easily and songs that just didn’t sound right to you. So much for results. I may have been out of the country when you married the guy next to you in orchestra who had a better violin than you did, but I shared in the joy. Shar’s Fine Instrument department did their best to match the tone of your violin to his, didn’t they? If you ever forget what brought you together, get out your instruments...and practice!
Speaking of weddings, Paul. I remember leaving my church a little early one Sabbath so I could be at your wedding ceremony across town and play Lover’s Waltz at the end of a deeply spiritual, moving service. If anyone questions a fiddling number in church, how else does a guy celebrate God’s leading in his heart that prompts him to propose to his stand partner with a solitary rendition of “Lover’s Waltz?" How creative of you, then, to plead with her to play the duet with you for the rest of her life! I hope it's gentle harmony reminds you both how much you need Him to help you play in beautiful, lifelong ensemble.
I could go on and on...with memories for each one of "my kids." Of tear streaks on violin varnish. Of “broken” strings and scissors. Of Suzuki books criss-crossed with tire tracks and practice guides overwritten with scathing declarations. Of scale books that lost their covers--and the bad words that were written on them. Learning violin can be hard.
But it can also be discovery. Accomplishment. Success. Getting through “Mary Had A Little Lamb” or Monti’s “Czardas.” Holding a solid chin grip or hearing the wobble of a beginning vibrato. Deciphering those mysterious notes or creating a song. Playing your first gig and collecting that first check. The memories are not just mine, I know. Don't forget how great it was to have your name drawn for a Stringshop door prize. Or to twirl those slippery gypsy scarves. To perform barefoot on the stage of the Howard Center. To survive playing a beach wedding in sand-biting wind. Or to collapse in air conditioning after fiddling at the St. Joseph art show.
Violin is about high hurdles and sweet satisfaction, about hard things becoming easier. I'm amazed at what can take place in the little bit of time we shared together each week and what gets accomplished after a year, or two, or ten. Look, Michael, at what you've done in the past sixteen years! But maybe it's not that amazing after all...
 |
| Julia not only knows what it takes to design and make a totally edible violin cake for the final recital, but she knows what it takes to make four totally talented, semi-eager young men into developing musicians. |
I have learned, no matter how thorough my teaching or how motivating I am, success is in the hands of a strong parent like Julia who says to a discouraged teen, “Look, Mutungi, you will not skip out of Teacher Kathie's last recital. You will play 'La Folia' too. And. I will let you drive my car.”
Sometimes that’s how it happens.
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