As a recent retiree, I already miss many aspects of my job: my wonderful colleagues, teaching my favorite subject (music), and attending Musikgarten workshops to learn more effective ways to teach my favorite subject. Most of all, I miss working with children. Yes, children can be disruptive, self-centered, impulsive, and just plain challenging (especially in a group setting), but they are also refreshingly honest and unspoiled by the cynicism that inevitably creeps into our adult perspectives.
When my own children and grandchildren were young, I remember being awed by their sense of wonder at everything they encountered, from a line of ants marching along the sidewalk to their own belly buttons. Observing the world through the eyes of a toddler--who has just mastered the skill of walking and is still struggling with the art of verbal communication--is like watching a weightless balloon as it is released from it's tether. It begins to soar through the sky unfettered, not caring where it goes, simply reveling in the journey.
I adore conversing with young children because they are concrete thinkers who express themselves in absolute terms. It is so interesting to hear their literal, yet often unique, translations of English words with multiple meanings. For example, when my daughter, at two years old, was playing in her sandbox one day, I reminded her to wipe off the sand before coming in the house. She reached down and started brushing her hands back and forth on the surface of the sand in the box. She was doing exactly what I had asked her to do, but still had sand all over her clothes.
Often when teaching five- and six-year-old children to read music, I found that if I weren't specific with my words, the students could become confused. When asking them to place a note on a line of the staff, I needed to specify that the line must intersect the note head. Otherwise the note appeared to be in a space. Musicians quickly discover that a slight misplacement makes a huge difference in how the note is interpreted.
One time I asked a young student to place a cardboard circle (note-head) in the space above line-three of the rope staff I had constructed on the floor. Obediently, he suspended the circle in the air about a foot above the floor. Literally, he followed the directions I had given.
Young children, unless their needs are not being met, possess no malice. Their motives are pure and their speech patterns are delightful. Here are just a few memorable examples from my thirty years of teaching early childhood music:
Jimmy (age 8): "Mrs. Freeman, why is the top of your head black?"
Me: "Because I'm not a natural blonde."
Jimmy: "Oh."
Avery (age seven): "Wednesdays are my best days."
Me: "Why?"
Avery: "Because on Wednesdays I get to have music twice. . . once at my regular school and again at music school."
Me (smiling and thinking): "I love this kid!"
Alyssa (age 3): "When I was a little kid, I sucked my thumb."
Me: "Who can tell me why it's important to sit or stand tall when we sing?"
Ben (age 4): "'Cause if you scrunch like this (gives a dramatic demonstration) you might get a cramp, and when your mom comes to pick you up, she'll think you're a pretzel, and she'll take some other kid home."
Me: "Um."
Me (singing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" in solfege): "do, do, sol, sol, la, la, sol, etc. What song am I singing?"
Four-year-old students: No response
Me (same tune but switching to a neutral syllable): "Baa, baa, baa, baa, baa, baa, baa, etc." Now what song am I singing?"
Jack: "Well, at first I thought it was the star song, but now I think it's a song about sheep."
Me (reviewing the previous week's lesson): "When there are two voice parts, it's called a duet; when there are three, its a trio. What do we call it when there are four parts?"
Madison (age six): "A crowd."
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