[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]An interesting thing happened to me this week. I’ve been asked to teach a song to kids in Irish. (Irish is a crazy, crazy language. It doesn’t look as it sounds AT ALL. And it has some sounds in it I’m not really used to.) Apparently there’s this song that every kid in Ireland learns. Every Irish teacher I work with knows it. It’s pretty catchy. It’s here if you want to listen to it.

So I spent a long time on Sunday trying to learn it. I felt a little like I was swallowing marbles at one point. It took ages. I like to think that I am on the bright side of regular intelligence, but it took forever. I knew I had to be able to sing it pretty confidently to teach it.

Monday’s choir rehearsal came around. 50 kids in front of me. Lots of them don’t read very well. Lots of kids who struggle in the classroom. Off I went, getting them to say each word, say each line, sing each line…. In 20 minutes they’d learned it. That’s right. TWENTY. About a fifth of the time it took me.

“Can we sing this without you, Rachel?” asks one cheeky tacker. “You’re not so good at it.”

I loved watching these kids that don’t do well at NAPLAN, that don’t engage with maths so much, that don’t really engage with reading, writing or ‘rithmetic NAIL singing this song. And it reminded me that I should never ever presume that children I see can’t do something. And that children think completely differently.

Bhí siad den scoth. (OK – I’ve put it into Google translate. It’s probably wrong. But it does say, in Irish “They were excellent.”)

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[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]There are some things in life I cannot do. I can’t hurdle. I can’t do push-ups. I can’t do chin-ups, either. I’m not a very good cook. And I’m not good at being tactful.

But there are some things I can do very well. One of them is teach. I know I am an extremely good teacher, especially at music. I find communicating my love of music very easy – and most of the time, I love it. Some types of teaching I am extremely good at. I am very good with big groups of people. I am very good at teaching cello to beginners and people up to about Grade 6 level (that’s ability, not year group).

I was contacted by a parent of a teenager – would I teach this young person the cello? I said what I normally do – I’ll give them up to four lessons, and then I’ll see if they like me, I like them and we can work together. I don’t usually teach teenagers, but I thought I’d see what happens.

First lesson, fine. Although this particular teen seemed very bright in the lesson – and had been playing the cello for ages, but wasn’t so far down the road of progress. I wondered why… bad previous teaching? No practise? Father assured me that they had time to practise, and said they’d like to do AMEB exams (Alarm bell 1 starts to ring. I hate preparing kids for exams. For most people, they slow progress. There’s a lot of hard scales that aren’t related to pieces. But I left it.). Gave student some work to do, and a new piece.

Next week, the day before lesson two I got a phone call. Didn’t want to come at the agreed time, as it was the start of holidays. They’ll see me in two weeks instead. (Alarm bell 2.)

When it came time for lesson three, I had a concert that evening, and I wasn’t feeling settled. So I called to see if I could see this student the day afterwards, on a Sunday. No problem, they said. That Sunday, I got an email. Can’t come – grandfather’s funeral. (Cue alarm bell 3.) Who forgets a funeral the day before?

Lesson 4 arrived – no-one showed. I sent a text message. ‘Oh – we thought it was a different time.’ came the reply.

At this point, I decided it wasn’t going to work. Slow progress of teen now explained. I wrote back, saying I didn’t think this was going to work out. No accusing anything. No asking for cancellation fees. Then came the cranky text (and with lots of typos. I mean, please? Don’t I even deserve a spellcheck?) from the teen.

So this made me think….. Did this family even consider the loss of income for me here, as I blocked out times, and then had lessons cancelled? Thank goodness I wasn’t relying on the money – but I could have been.

And why can’t people just apologise for their mistakes? At no point did I get ‘Sorry. My mistake. I stuffed up.’ Has this completely disappeared from society? I hear teachers do this in Primary school all the time, teaching children to say they are sorry. Does this lesson disappear with the onset of puberty?

And don’t I deserve a bit of respect? Even just to have a correctly spelled semi-abusive text sent to me? I mean, I can do this thing I was originally asked to do. The teaching part. I’ve been doing it for a number of years now. Actually, decades, now.

So I don’t teach this particular person any more. I do, however, teach some lovely people. I enjoy teaching them immensely. I also teach in some excellent schools, and like doing this.

That’s it now. End of rant. Feel better.

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[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]It’s been an interesting week. A week that has made me very proud to be a musician. It has made me cherish what it is I do.

Raff and Janet, my two guitar playing friends turned up to our last rehearsal before the start of our run of concerts really upset. Their friend, guitarist and composer, Phillip Houghton, had suddenly died. I had met Phillip through these guys – he was a kind, gentle man. He’d also written some music for us. The Aussie guitar ‘family’ is pretty close, but for Raff especially, Phillip was a dear friend, and he was very affected. We decided, as a tribute to Phillip, we’d change our encore – rather than playing the Bach piece we’d chosen, we’d play something of his. We’ll do this at every concert we play (this is in the present tense ‘cos they’ve not all yet happened). We’ve played one concert with this encore – and it was a very fitting way to pay tribute to an excellent man, and dear friend.

Also I heard from an old school friend that her mum had died. I used to stay at their house a lot growing up. I remember her helping me with a school project about the desert, and teaching me how to make flowers out of cake icing. She was a wonderful woman, and her family loved her dearly. The next day I sat and played a Bach suite for her – the same Bach suite that JSB wrote after his first wife died. It seemed the right thing to do.

And it got me thinking….. there’s not many professions that can do that. I can’t buy a house, well, really anywhere in a major population centre in this country. I’ll never have a flash car. But I will be able to pay tribute to people who are good and special in the world in the best way I know how. I will be able to honour their memory. And that means something.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]This isn’t going to be a long post today. I feel a bit thrown by daylight savings, to tell you the truth. I love the light-in-the-evening thing, but it makes it really very hard to get up in the early morning to practise at the moment. I’m sitting typing this feeling slightly jet-lagged, and drinking umpteen cups of tea.

The other day I got sent an email that was anti-Muslim. One of those forwarded things. First off, the facts were wrong (and when I pointed this put to the person who sent it to me, they copped it on the chin, and corrected themselves. Good on them.) – but its not the first time this has happened. I then went to have a bit of a surf around the internet, and I found all sorts of hateful things – anti-Christian, anti-Catholic, anti-Aboriginal, anti-right wing, anti-gay, anti-open-minded….. it’s all out there. It’s horrible, actually.

I spend so long teaching children not to see differences. So does every other teacher I know. It doesn’t matter the skin-colour/ height / freckles / religion / clothes (insert what you want here) of the person next to you. They are your friend. They are kind, like you. They need kindness, like you. The Timorese say “We all eat from the same bowl of rice.”

All children I see are taught this in primary school. When does it change? And actually, why does it have to change?[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Most of my music lessons I plan – and also can pretty much tell you the outcome of what will happen (unless there’s something really odd happening, and the kids are really hard work). I’ll be able to tell you which kids will struggle, which of them will be able to do most of the lesson etc. I make it my business to watch things very carefully, although it might look like I’m just horsing around up the front (someone once said to me after a day teaching Early Childhood Lessons ‘Rachel, I don’t know why you are so tired. You’re really just rolling around on the floor with children….’. I’m not sure whether to take this as a total insult (you are doing nothing with these kids), or a compliment (you make this look so easy) – who knows.).

But every so often, I’ll plan something for a class that is actually really hard. I’m not sure how most of the kids will cope. And these lessons start like this….

“So….. year four. I’m going to teach you something I don’t think you’ll be able to do.” Children start grinning.

“I think I’ve chosen the wrong thing. I think this is too hard for you. If you are sitting next to someone you are going to be distracted by, could you move now.” Children continue to grin. A few kids will get up and move, and nearly always make good choices about where they will sit.

“OK. Here we go….. this will probably be too difficult, but let’s give it a try.”

And do you know what? These lessons have always worked. Kids try their damnedest. They all concentrate. They all achieve. And they all go out of the music lesson feeling really good about what they’ve done.

Would adults do that, I wonder? If you were told that something was too hard for you, would you throw yourself into it? I think most of us would say no. We’d walk away. So when does this change? When do we stop grinning at a challenge, and when do we start only staying in our comfort zone?[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]