Sunday, October 08, 2006
Clarity. (with a small question mark)
Today is a lovely day, in case any of you are bedridden and blind. I had to get outside, so I drove to Montrose Diedrichs where I was greeted ("hello, gorgeous") by my favorite barista, and got my coffee (which he didn't charge me for) and my weekend treat- The New York Times. This is how all good Saturdays should begin.
In the Arts section, I read about a new documentary on kids and music. I'd already read about politics, justice, art exhibits, important people, concerts, and business -but nothing made my heart sing the way this short article did. The two small paragraphs weren't as well-written as the feature story on the Arabic army recruiter, or as important as the political campaign articles. But when I finished my newspaper and started reading "Return of the King," my mind was still trying to figure out why my heart was swirling.
My news-writing teacher said I should be a reporter. My editing professor said I should be an editor. My calculus professor told me to look into accounting. My violin professor said I should perform. My antiquity literature professor said I should study philosophy. But when I quit teaching violin at St. Francis, it was the words (and tears) of the parents of my little students that have stuck with me the most.
I am not a great musician, and I was not a great music teacher. But I was able to connect with those kids (as rich and snobby and sweet as they were) and I loved my time with them (even when I wanted to smash them over the head with their squeaky 16 inch "violins"). Whether I had 30 minutes or an hour with them, it was never long enough and the time flew by faster than any other part of my day.
So. Here I sit at my computer, flipping through the US News' edition of the top graduate schools and getting teary-eyed from reading stories on the Teach for America website.
Is there anything more rewarding than exposing children to a huge world of thought, opened by music and language and ruled by a beautiful balance of creativity and logic? For others, of course the answer is "yes." But maybe, just maybe, for me the answer is "no."
Thank God for lovely Saturdays. And for brief moments of clarity. Even when a million question marks still hang around.
In the Arts section, I read about a new documentary on kids and music. I'd already read about politics, justice, art exhibits, important people, concerts, and business -but nothing made my heart sing the way this short article did. The two small paragraphs weren't as well-written as the feature story on the Arabic army recruiter, or as important as the political campaign articles. But when I finished my newspaper and started reading "Return of the King," my mind was still trying to figure out why my heart was swirling.
My news-writing teacher said I should be a reporter. My editing professor said I should be an editor. My calculus professor told me to look into accounting. My violin professor said I should perform. My antiquity literature professor said I should study philosophy. But when I quit teaching violin at St. Francis, it was the words (and tears) of the parents of my little students that have stuck with me the most.
I am not a great musician, and I was not a great music teacher. But I was able to connect with those kids (as rich and snobby and sweet as they were) and I loved my time with them (even when I wanted to smash them over the head with their squeaky 16 inch "violins"). Whether I had 30 minutes or an hour with them, it was never long enough and the time flew by faster than any other part of my day.
So. Here I sit at my computer, flipping through the US News' edition of the top graduate schools and getting teary-eyed from reading stories on the Teach for America website.
Is there anything more rewarding than exposing children to a huge world of thought, opened by music and language and ruled by a beautiful balance of creativity and logic? For others, of course the answer is "yes." But maybe, just maybe, for me the answer is "no."
Thank God for lovely Saturdays. And for brief moments of clarity. Even when a million question marks still hang around.
# posted by Michelle : 6:46 AM
