[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]I have just had an amazing last week teaching at a school out in western NSW. I blog about it a lot. I love going out here. And I’m writing this as I sit on my first night home, pretty tired and worn-out – but on a huge high. I taught for three days, and then was lucky enough to see their talent night – lots of class groups, solo performers, gymnasts, poets, you name it – performing to raise money.

I’m pretty brain-dead, but wanted to write something tonight as I’m packing up all my lesson plans and getting ready for the new week ahead. And when I’m tired, I tend to like lists – so here’s one after my last week.

1. The kids at this school are beautiful. And they love music.
2. The teachers are an incredible bunch of people. They are some of my favourite people to see and work with. Thank you for all your love and support – and your excellent drumming.
3. I like sitting around fire-pits enormously. It’s a great way to spend an evening.
4. I laugh a lot at this school.
5. Teaching music is a tremendous privilege. I love music so much – and I love that these kids have such a positive start on their musical journey.
6. I feel very loved at this school.
7. One of my favourite moments was telling a parent how much I loved teaching her son, and how beautiful he is in drumming classes, and watching the range of emotions on her face. It wasn’t what she was expecting to hear, I don’t think. And it was excellent to say it to her. He deserved his praise.
8. Being out in ‘big sky country is good for my soul.

I have used the word ‘love’ too much in this post. Sorry about that. I’m tired.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Last week I was at a school. I’ve not been there for a long time – but long enough to start to get to know most of the kids I see. I’ve sussed out most of the ones who would play up in the classroom, the ones who would rather goof around than admit they are finding something hard, the quiet ones, the ones who struggle. One of the most important parts of my job (as I see it) is to engage those kids and praise them. The kids who sail through school aren’t my first concern (although I like them a lot) – they are easy to teach. That’s not really why I’m there.

I djembe drum with year 6 at this school. Most of them love it, and most lessons are easy. I don’t have many discipline problems. But one lesson, just at the end of term was different. Everyone was tired. They had a not-so-competent casual teacher with them. And most of the boys were challenging. One of them wasn’t, interestingly. He’s a kid who isn’t very bright. Who often chooses to be a bit of a doofus. And who I know does it tough at home. I praised him in the moment, and he loved it. He’s decided drumming is ‘his thing’. He takes it seriously, and himself seriously when he’s in music.

Last week, I had them all again. (I’ve been away on holidays, so I missed the first two weeks of term.) My conversation with their normal teacher went like this….”Mrs A, I just need to tell you about the last class I had with your crew. Some of the boys were, well, a bit not-so-great. They drummed when they shouldn’t, and mucked around a bit.”

Some of the girls agreed and had a whinge. I knew they would. Thanks, girlies! The teacher played along.”Oh really? Oh, I’m really sorry to hear that.” Boys look a bit sorry for themselves.

“But Mrs A, there was one boy who didn’t. He had all this silliness going on around him, and he ignored it. He drummed he concentrated, he listened – he was actually the most perfect person in the class.”

“Oh, I’m so pleased to hear that!” says their teacher. Its obvious by her face she has no idea where I’m going with this. But I make her guess. It takes her five goes. When she says my little chappie’s name, not only is she surprised, but he’s surprised I remember. She is delighted.

He isn’t normally on the receiving end of this sort of praise. He bursts into tears. Although I don’t normally like making kids cry, this time I did. You deserved this praise, my friend. You were fabulous. And I wanted everyone to know.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]I am aware that I may walk into trouble with this post. I am still going to write it, though. I mightn’t say what I want very well, but I’m going to try.

It’s NAIDOC week (yep – I know. Here comes the trouble…) and I want to add my voice to many others talking about it. I am not Aboriginal, or a Torres Strait Islander. I am white – very white. But I teach a lot of Aboriginal kids, and work with Aboriginal Education Officers. I am inspired by Aboriginal musicians and dancers I meet in schools. I try to learn from them, and respect what I learn. I think you could say that I know a little bit about Aboriginal culture, and realise I only know a little bit (better than knowing a little bit and thinking you know a lot).

I do know a lot about teaching music, though, and the power of it.

I have had a version of ‘Advance Australia Fair’ written for me by a Sydney musician and elder. I love that he’s done this, and taught me the words, and allowed me to hand on this song to others. There’s a fabulous backing track that has been made. And, respectfully, I have taught this song to a number of kids now. The teaching children part of this process has been a doddle. They love it. They love to sing in any different language – but for many kids, especially if they are Aboriginal (or from the Torres Strait), this is especially significant. They swell with pride. I am not exaggerating one bit – I see it. Their chests fill, and they raise their heads, and they own this version of the song. And then they sing it outside the music room – to their reading teacher, or their friends, or their relatives.

It’s all the other stuff that has been really hard. One teacher (who is white) told me she wouldn’t sing this ‘monkey language’ (I was gobsmacked. I am not often speechless. This floored me.). Another teacher (who is Aboriginal) told me what I was doing was tokenistic, and wrong. I’ve been called an interfering white #$%@. I’ve been told that it’s the ‘wrong’ language. And then I see white children and non-white children singing this song together, and keep coming back to that.

Here’s my point I’m trying to make…. Isn’t the preservation of any Aboriginal language worth doing? Isn’t giving Aboriginal kids (who sometimes don’t have much to be proud about) something to be proud about a good thing? Isn’t singing together important? Isn’t sharing culture a way to bridge gaps between people?

I’m not an expert on reconciliation. I’m certainly not an expert on Aboriginal and Torres Strait music or culture. But I do see a change in children as they sing this song. They are proud. And happy. And love to sing it. All children. I understand that I, as a whitey, need to be culturally sensitive. And I am trying my very best. And I know I won’t please everyone. But I wish these people who are very quick to criticise could see the pride that I see in these singing children. Because, for me, that’s what is most important.

Thank you to Matt, for giving me the words to teach.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]ADHD is the ‘thing’ these days, it seems. I know a number of children who truly have it. They describe to me that letters and words swim in front of their eyes and they can’t read sentences. That noises like people breathing are really loud and it distracts them. They speak truthfully and beautifully and it breaks my heart. Most of these kids are really clever, and a little bit off-the-wall. They are challenging in the classroom – but I like having them there, and I like them. Some children I see have medication. And it makes a big difference to them. Don’t get me wrong here, I am not advocating medicating children for everything – but sometimes it really works. And then children can focus and learn.

And the there are some other kids who tell me they have ADHD. I had one little boy like this in a drum circle the other day. He was fidgety, and distracted and pretty challenging. I chose to ignore most of it – as long as he wasn’t distracting anyone else, I’d continue with the lesson. But at one point he crossed that line. He wanted to turn his drum to one side (squashing the person to his left) and play with his hand up the drum stem so he could feel the vibrations. It’s fun to do it like that – but it wasn’t what I’d asked the class to do.

I looked at him, stopped my instructions to the class and said, simply, ‘NO.’

‘No. You may not do that.’

There was silence. He looked completely shocked. And put his drum on the floor. Someone in the circle giggled nervously.

He picked up his drum and joined in, still looking shocked.

I had no more trouble.

It got me thinking – when was he last told ‘no’? In fact, when was I last told ‘no’. I can’t have what I want? I can’t buy that coffee, or jumper? I can’t do what I want right now? What would happen if various business people were told simply ‘no’. No – you can’t have this today. Because I am over-worked, and want to leave at a reasonable hour today. You can have it next week – but not right now. Would it make workplaces better?

You know, I think it would.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]I am weary right now, typing this. I have had two HUGE days to start the week. But even though I am weary, I am hugely pleased. Let me tell you what I’ve been up to….

I teach in two Sydney Catholic Schools. The principal of school A moved to school B at the start of the year, and invited me to start a music program at school B. Year 6 at both schools djembe drum. So it was agreed that all the students would get together (at school B) for a drumming workshop. We had a big enough space. But getting (and storing) all those drums were hard – I needed 60. Both schools have 20 – but I needed another stash. So a complicated system that involved removing drums from school C (no longer used), storing at my local yoga studio (a HUGE thank you to the gang there!) and then carting said drum stash back-and-forth was hatched. (If I never move another bloody djembe again I won’t be sorry….)

I have never taught 60 drummers before. 35 yes, but 60 no. But do you know, it’s actually not much louder. I have to bellow a bit to be heard. And I had all the kids sitting in a circle, so I had to talk-and-spin as I delivered instructions. But it was really fun. And most importantly, the kids LOVED it. They loved the noise. The sense of being. All kinds of friendships were struck up. And by the end of it, we had a piece ready to perform. It was a fabulous day. That was Monday.

On Tuesday, I was at a different school. We were visited by the founder of the ACMF (the charity I work for), Don Spencer, and 8 visiting Chinese businessmen, looking to support Don and his work. This visit involved me teaching five of Don’s songs to the large senior choir (over 100 kids) so we could perform together, and then coming up with a music lesson for all of year 6 (nearly 40 kids) that we could share with the visitors (so they’d sit and join in). Again, it was a huge amount of work (not just for me – also the school – getting permission slips for filming (did I mention the two cameras?) and jiggling around the timetable) – but again, the kids LOVED it. Actually, not just the kids – but also the visitors. A few times I stepped away from myself, and managed to look at what was going on. People singing, or playing, or passing claves to the beat. Grown-ups and children. Lots of different coloured skin. Los of academic abilities. Shy people. ‘Out there’ people. And all smiling together.

Music is a great leveller. It’s a great friend-builder. It’s a great way to have a huge amount of (legal) fun. God knows the world could do with a bit more of that at the moment.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]