"Take that home and woodshed it!"
- Charles Roberts, Greece Arcadia High School Band Director circa 1970
These are the words of my high school band director. This is one of the many sayings he had that he harangued us with, badgering us to do better, be better. And we loved him for it. What he alluded to, I guess, was the practice of going to the woodshed for a spanking, a dubious practice designed to make neurotic adults out of misbehaving children, but when applied to music meant to beat all the mistakes out of it. I have been thinking a lot lately about the merits of practice, what it takes to get kids to practice, and who really benefits from practicing. We have just finished a grading period at the middle school and are rapidly approaching concert time, and so this has been at the forefront of my focus for my classes.
What brought this into sharp focus for me yesterday was a silly and cute video that was making the rounds of two very small children sparring in a Tae Kwon Do test for their next belt. The two children, in full sparring gear, hop up and down on their toes, make sporadic kicks, but never once connect with each other. Having sat through many such tests at a school here in So Cal, I knew that those kids would both be granted their new belts. My husband, Jon, has always contended that in commercial martial arts classes, students progress through their belts by "testing" and always "pass" no matter whether they can demonstrate the skills required at that level or not. Many adults (my stepdaughter, say) take those tests very seriously and practice hard for them. But we have been to several of her tests and watched the little kids get their next belt when they barely made it through the test. My stepdaughter's brown belt is NOT the same as the brown belt won by a 1st grader, but getting that belt assures the school that the 1st grader's parents will keep paying for classes. This cheapens the belt test, and if you're an adult, you have to wonder if you would have gotten your belt anyway, even if you couldn't get through your forms or break a board.
It was testing week in my middle school class last week, and I am sitting here at the end of it, puzzling. This is the only thing, besides participation that I have to grade them on for this five weeks. We have a concert coming up in 10 days. The seventh and eighth graders have been through testing many times, and approached their tests with one of three attitudes: 1) terrified 2) don't care 3) care enough to work on the music at home to get it right. The sixth graders, for the most part, took this experience really seriously, and it was in that class that I saw the most dramatic improvements in skill. What several of the sixth graders accomplished in the last two weeks is nothing short of amazing, and all of them understood the importance of the test and what it means for the overall achievement of the orchestra for them to do well.
I think my mind is chewing on the issue of practicing because as a child and teenager, I, myself, didn't really believe that practicing would make any difference. I had some kind of block that prevented me from knowing that practice actually improved my performance. This was partly due to the fact that I was, from early on, a pretty good sight player and reader and could fake my way through lessons even well into middle school. I was the sort of kid, and I have met many like me in my teaching, who easily mastered things at a certain level, and instantly became frustrated when the level got past my easy mastery. I didn't know, until I was doing Master's work on cello performance, how much I could really achieve by systematic, careful, slow and abundant practice. I had always thought, before that, that somehow people were just ABLE to play difficult music, because, I don't know...they were magic! And since I didn't have that magic, I was doomed to mediocrity.
I also have been watching my husband learn the ukulele. I got him one for his birthday in September, and he has devoted many, many hours to learning chords, songs and strumming patterns, until now he is amazed and delighted that he can play some things with unconscious ease, making real music on his own for the first time in his life. He echoes back to me what I have said to him in our discussions of my own classes: "If you like it, you'll practice it".
So why is it important to me that my students understand the value of practice? Maybe this is the question I should really ask myself. When a student ends up in tears because of the pressure of performing and my expectations, have I really accomplished anything? Can I get them to care when they don't? Can I SHOW them how much they can achieve when they put the time in? When does individual practice turn into individual self-confidence? Should I be easier on the kids, not make them play for a grade? Give them all 3 (my highest mark) even when they can't get through the assigned passages?
The last two questions are the ones that have been eating at me all weekend. All the kids hate this test, some more than others. But for some the fear has spurred them to work harder and master all or part of the whole. Some moved forward a few inches in their skill level, and some just crashed and burned, with nary a backward glance. They all recognized excellence in their peers and roundly applauded after tests that earned a 3. But my grading system also takes into account other factors. For instance, several of the students in both classes are first year players and I measured their success by how far they have come, evidence of individual practice, and willingness to put themselves on the line. They might not get a 3, but could get close, just by stepping up and making progress.
Another video that came to me yesterday shows extreme athletes doing impossible things. I can't even begin to imagine what the practice looks like to achieve such impossibility. But there they are, flying, jumping, skiing, climbing in the most IN-human ways. They were not born with these abilities. No human is. And it's not magic. Somehow, they practiced.
But I have spent the weekend thinking about this: If I cheapen the test, to save some from embarrassment or failure, then I am really telling ALL the students that I don't think they are very capable. When I set a high standard and make everyone measure up, I am telling my students that I have confidence in their ability to achieve great things. There is no magic, no special birthright here. Instruction helps, but "taking it home and 'woodshedding' it" is really the only thing that stands between failure and success.
