Do your students know you care?

Do your students know you love them? Do they realize that you really care? You bark out, “Band, Ten-hut”. When they respond too slowly, you roar, ‘Pa-rade-Rest!” followed by another quick, “Ten-hut.” Perhaps when attempting to begin a rehearsal, you raise your baton, wait impatiently then blurt out sarcastically, “I’m not airing out my armpits!” Maybe you just bang the base of your baton on the music stand in an increasing crescendo until the musicians get the message.

Jacob’s older sister, Aubree, was a delight to have in middle school Band. In less than a year, she surpassed all of her peers on the alto saxophone. Last year, 5^th grader Jacob missed the end-of-the year performance because he was distracted elsewhere, and lost track of the time. He showed up at rehearsal the next day and expecting his Band Award pin. When reminded that he would not receive it because the awards were presented at the performance only to those performing at the event, he began to sob, claiming that I was being unfair. Then I explained that everyone was made aware of the requirements in advance, and that it would be inequitable to the others. He threw quite a fit, and had to be sent home.

It was three weeks later, in the early morning hours of July 4^th. Aubree, Jacob, and their 5-year-old, twin sisters were murdered by their father, who then used the rifle to take his own life.

I cried.

The Fourth of July celebration held at the park that same afternoon was mingled with sadness. A highlight of the day for me was when 14-year-old Aurora came back from Reno for the day to say goodbye to all of her friends before moving to Reno with her stepmother. She saw me, and ran over, and with tears in her eyes gave me a hug. As a rule I don’t allow my students get physically close, but since she was leaving and we were in a very public place, I supposed that a little “sideways” hug was acceptable.

I wished her well. She was my angelic, soprano soloist who sang “Silent Night” so sincerely at the district Christmas concert. I would miss her as a performer, a leader, and a wonderful student with a kind heart!

“I just wanted to tell everyone goodbye one last time,” she explained. I thought it was because she was completing her move to Reno.

Two days later she was found hanging in her bedroom: suicide note by her side.

I cried again.

This July, while shopping at Rite Aid, the assistant-manager asked me if I heard about the accident over on the highway. I immediately got that knotted, panicky feeling in my stomach. I took off toward the scene of the accident, attempting to discover who was involved, but somehow knowing already that it would be one of my students.

MacKensie was a member of my high school band’s flag team. She was an extremely talented member of the squad: a natural. A beautiful girl who shared her love and her infectious smile with everyone, MacKensie had just seen me the evening prior in the local Nob Hill parking lot when she was out collecting shopping carts. She went out of her way to come over to me, put her arm around my shoulders and asked, “How ya doin’ Mr. Smith?”

‘Mac’ was late to work that day. As she was passing another car, she lost control, swerved into oncoming traffic, and was slammed and spun onto the shoulder by a much larger S.U.V. She apparently was not badly injured, but her cars doors would not open, and her seat belt was stuck. The tall weeds under her car caught fire, her fiberglass corvette melted, and she suffered a horrific death while screaming for help.

I cried again.

I did not become a music teacher because I enjoyed watching children learn and grow.

I did not do so because I felt I was molding young minds and leading them to a lifetime of creating and appreciating the finer aspects of music in the world around us.

My motives were self-centered and self-gratifying.

Fortunately, I, like many other directors, was able to convince the members and their future replacements to buy into my dream and they felt the same compelling power to experience the elation of a significant performance.

When I started teaching, I did so because of my love for music and making music with large ensembles. I thrilled at the rush I experienced as I led an outstanding festival choir or an orchestra of exceptional students performing powerful and beautiful music. I felt an ecstasy as the audience expressed the appreciation for the performance. This ecstasy was like a drug: Each performance had to be a little bigger, a little better, and a little more spectacular.

I now know that I have the power to change their lives for better or worse. I may be the only person they ever meet who will show them love, respect, and teach them self-discipline. I listen to their ideas with true interest and their needs with compassion. I give them time to complete that pressing homework assignment the day before a big band review when I see they urgency in their eyes. I applaud them when they do their best, no matter what the ‘judges’ think.

I am their Band Director, but my role has changed: I am their father, their mother, their grandpa, and yes…their music teacher. My greatest hope is that the only time I have to cry for them will be when they graduate from high school, when they marry, when they have children, and when some of them, as future band directors, beat my band by a few tenths of a point!