Today marks an auspicious anniversary for me.  On this date 8 years ago, someone of great influence in my life passed away.  The last several days have been a time of reflection, remembering what was and wondering what might have been.  There have been moments of sadness and anger, but mostly gratefulness as I reflect on the person I am becoming since this person has gone.

A few years before this person’s passing, at the advice of someone I trusted, I created a boundary between myself and this person because it wasn’t safe for me.  After many decades and with help from others, I made the hard decision to walk away.  This wasn’t anything that I chose to broadcast to the world, after all, others in our society have expectations of how certain relationships should be.  From my perspective, that relationship is a fairy tale.  It sounds great in a story, but reality is a completely different thing.  It may sound awful to some of you, but I have never been sad that this person is gone, only sad that my life with this person did not reflect the relationship I see in others and wish I had had.

I don’t want to dwell on the past, but instead share my encouragement to those of you who may have walked a mile in my shoes and understand what it is like to deal with someone who feeds off of the pain they inflict.  It is possible, with the help of others, to heal and begin to figure out who you really are, to begin to see yourself through the eyes of others who do not have hurting you on their agenda.  My only regret was that I didn’t figure out I could do something about all of this sooner in my life.  But my life is not over, not by a long shot!

While this is not the relationship I would have wished upon myself, it has taught me many things.  I am learning to set boundaries, that what I have to say matters, and that I am not the lazy, selfish, ugly, failure of a woman I allowed one person to tell me I was.  I have friends who care about me despite being told I would never have them, that people were just pretending to like me.  I am loved by my family despite being told my family loves others more than me.  It has taken many years and the love of my friends and family who have convinced me that what I was told is not me.  So I continue the work to learn who I am and make who I am even better. 

For years I was told nobody would believe me if I shared what was happening and, with a close family member who should have listened, that was true.  But if you keep talking, eventually, even if it’s decades later, someone will believe you and help.  No matter when it happens, there is a chance to learn and heal and that is what is happening for me.  Again, I share this NOT to dwell in the past, but to help others out there who have and are experiencing the same thing.  What you feel is valid – never let anyone else tell you what you feel or should feel. 

So today I am so grateful.  I have learned to surround myself with great people of kindness and  integrity and to walk away from others who do not have my best interests at heart.  It’s hard but do-able.  My life is so full with my best friend, my kids and grandkids.  It’s full of many adventures and opportunities to learn.  I get to hang with some of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met, learn from them and work with them.  As each anniversary comes around, I am more of who I believe I was meant to me and less and less of who I was told I was.  And life is good.  My hope is that you are allowing yourselves to be who you were meant to be and that you find someone you trust to talk to when you need it.  

Some days are just inspiring and today has been one of them.  Nothing earthshattering, just a lot of little things that at any other time, would be nice, perhaps even pleasant, but not necessarily inspiring.  

Had to take a drive downtown this morning, taking my usual route, but today I noticed that the big old trees on either side of the street had really started to pop with leaves and flowers.  The canopy of trees was beginning to form, as it does every spring, but today it brought a new joy.  Despite the craziness of the past year, life, as Jeff Goldblum would say, finds a way.  The grass is green, the robins are plentiful, and little yellow and purple flowers are everywhere.  It happens every year, but for some reason, this year brings a hope that I have not experienced before.

The reason for going downtown today was to make sure lunch was delivered to some judges for a show choir competition at the Lied Center.  Since we moved here over 20 years ago, the Lied Center has in some ways been a home away from home.  The yearly All-State Concerts are held there and I’ve spent many hours messing around, laughing and eating with colleagues backstage between concerts, where I’ve attended the UNL Highlights concert, as well as many other concerts and musicals.  As I walked in today, I was greeted by friends and staff and it was as if nothing had changed, as if the lights had never been turned off for the past year.  It was a sign of rebirth for this venue and the way I perceive a place I’ve become so familiar with.

As I sat at lunch with the judges in the green room, I listened to them talk about how great it was to have the opportunity to listen to live music again with a small but enthusiastic audience.  The talked about their own teaching, and how at the beginning of the year they had to institute 8’x8’ “boxes” for their music students to stay in so they could learn safely and how far things had progressed for the better during this strange year.  

Resiliency reigned as they looked back at what they had been able to do, marveling at their own flexibility, thinking back to what had been a year of intense adjustment and change.  A year which at the beginning seemed like it would last forever and in hindsight seemed to pass so quickly.  A couple of us who are older (much older in my case) laughed, knowing that time is a tricky thing, that the years pass much faster than you might think.  We know that every spring brings a rebirth, that every new school year is a rebirth of sorts, a chance to rethink how we do things, a chance to begin anew. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be in a profession where you didn’t get that yearly reminder that change is the only constant we have, and that change is an opportunity for rebirth.

For me personally today, I was reminded of how dark things got last year, that I made the decision to leave teaching as I knew it, that all traveling, something I LOVE, ended, that seeing friends, colleagues, and family in person ceased.  I remembered how gray and snowy it was and how I thought the winter would never end.  Winter has never been my favorite season, but this year, it just represented everything in my life – trapped in my home, not seeing my students, not able to have the adventures I wanted.  A time of death. The pandemic and the restrictions it brought, brought life as I knew it to a standstill and with it a time of mourning. But today is different.  Today I feel a rebirth.

I feel it in the renewed traffic I see outside my window, the businesses reopening, the seating capacities increasing.  I see it in the lines of people getting vaccinated.  I know some people have been very emotional about this, because I’m sure it symbolizes a return to some freedom and the rebirth of their lives.  I’ve not felt that emotion myself as I think I’m a bit more pragmatic about this kind of thing, but I certainly see the symbolism.

I see it in the celebration of the risen Christ, in the blooming of my Easter lilies, in the spring thunderstorms that wash everything clean and make everything green.  There are people out running, riding their bikes and running their lawnmowers.  It’s that resiliency I talked about before, it’s coming out of that dark sleep and being prompted by nature to get our butts back in gear.  The life that was for a while, all browns and grays is now turning bright and colorful.  The “stone” has been rolled away and the light is returning.  How glorious!

Sometimes it takes a time of darkness for us to appreciate a time of rebirth.  What we do with this appreciation remains to be seen.  Do we go back to the way things were, or do we, like a great thunderstorm, clean everything and bring back only the light and bright?  How is this rebirth manifesting itself in your life and bringing about positive change?  

It felt like I had been walking up a hill, my chest was tight and the breathing was heavy.  So I started to really think about it, how could I adjust what I was doing to make the breathing easier.  I couldn’t.  It was frustrating, particularly as I have lost a bit of weight and walking up hills is now so much easier than it had been.  But I wasn’t walking up a hill, I hadn’t changed elevations, I wasn’t even walking that much.  All I was doing was teaching a class, wearing a mask.

We’ve been wearing masks for over a year now, and as I’m in education, it is expected in schools and in my little cubicle if others are close by.  I wear it when I go into a place of business or a place to eat, and it’s really not that big a deal.  When I go into schools to observe, I usually take a seat in the back of the room where I can watch things, but I’m not having to actually teach.  In fact, the only teaching I’ve had to do, I’ve done through Zoom.  No difficulty breathing there.  But here I was, doing a couple of little keynotes with our new teachers and I was breathing like I was running a marathon.  All because of a mask.  How in the world have our teachers been doing this all day, every day for this entire school year?

I have to admit, I had no idea.  Oh sure, I had read about teachers having difficulty – difficulty understanding and being understood because of those masks, some sharing that they have trouble breathing.  It is one thing to read about it, it is another to experience it.  You wouldn’t think talking is that big a deal, but it is.  Teachers talk a lot when teaching.  Music teachers, especially vocal teachers, not only talk, but sing.  And elementary general music teachers not only talk and sing, but they move and dance and play instruments while they’re singing.  Thank goodness I’m not doing that this year – I’m thinking it’s best left to the young people.  I could imagine myself having to stop and sit in a chair occasionally, waving at the kids while telling them, “go ahead!  I’ll join you in a little bit….”.  Where’s a rocking chair when you need it!

Of course, it’s not just educators who are my heroes here.  How many other people in other professions are having to wear a mask all day, every day and still do their job as though nothing has changed?  You know, I’ve watched students, the youngest in Kindergarten, just wearing their masks in class, following directions as best they can, doing their jobs as though they’ve been doing it since birth.  I see more old men wearing their masks under their noses then I do Kinders.  The other day I saw a gentleman wearing what I would have to describe as a nose mask.  The mask was too small for his face so all it covered was his nose! 

And who knew masks would become a fashion accessory.  Well, if you’ve got it, flaunt it, I always say.  So after living with nothing but black masks, I invested in some fancy, designer masks to brighten up my often all black ensembles.  They’re great for that little splash of color in your wardrobe.  I love that they cover up my face to where you can’t see the little zits that pop up now and again.  The same zits the mask probably helped create….

My son has recently begun a job where he has to wear his mask the whole day – 11 hours.  His first comment when he came home the first day was that he never realized how bad his breath was and hoped nobody else could smell it.  Being the kind person he is, he now takes a giant bottle of mouthwash with him to keep in his car to use during breaks and after lunch.  I too have noticed it and keep those Altoids handy, but have noticed that I can’t smell anything when I’m talking to others wearing masks, so maybe I don’t have to worry about it, as long as I can deal with my own questionable breath.

While we’re talking about talking, can we talk about enunciating?  I’m so glad I was taught as a vocalist to enunciate.  I naturally kick right in to getting those consonants nice and crispy and focus on those vowel sounds.  Very seldom do I get asked to repeat something.  However, I do have to wonder how other friends make it during the day, speaking the way they normally do.  My trumpet playing husband, who has never had to really enunciate because his trumpet does all his talking for him, is met with constant “can you repeat that” and “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you”.  I do wonder about my southern friends, whose lovely southern drawl is likely swirling around inside that mask, making everything they say turn to mush.  It’s a sad thing.  

I know that this won’t last forever and perhaps this mask has saved me from getting Covid at some point in the last year or more.  I do know I didn’t catch a cold or flu all year, so no bronchitis for the first time in I can’t tell you how long.  One day I’ll be able to sit with my grandchildren and tell how I had to wear a mask during a pandemic…. oh nevermind.  I’ve actually worn a mask with them during the pandemic.  And they’ll be able to share with their grandchildren how they wore a mask with their grandmother during a pandemic and how we had to huff and puff while talking at school.   

There’s something about going to places of business enough that they know you by name.  Some might say I’m in a rut, but I would argue that I’m building relationships and, at my age, I know what I like and I stick with it.  Anyway, I’m going through my favorite drive-through fast food place the other day where the woman at the window knows my name.  Our conversations at the very beginning were about my car.  You know, that cute little bright yellow bug?  Anyway, she and a co-worker were punching each other and saying “slug bug!”.  These are not young people by the way.  The conversations have expanded since then, but the other day, she shares with me that she had bought a new car and I should look at it when I get around the building.  “You can’t miss it”, she says, “it’s bright green and I LOVE it!”  Good for you, I say – life is too short to not have fun. 

Sure enough, I go around the building and there it is, that really bright green car.  She was so excited about it, and not because of the type of car it was but because of the color.  In our neck of the woods, especially on the south side of town where the income level is a little higher, everyone drives a white, black or gray colored vehicle.  Sometimes you’ll see a muted red (we do live in Nebraska after all), but it’s a pretty neutral world in terms of car color.  Sometime I would love to see my car from others’ perspectives.  That bright yellow, happy little car in among the sad gray, black and white cars must just pop.  And that’s the way people describe it – happy.  Some days I really need that happy colored car.

A couple of days ago I drove up to a drive thru for a favorite morning beverage and the girl at the window commented on my car.  Said she thought about getting a bug but then she found a bright yellow Mini Cooper convertible.  Her parents hate it, but she loves it.  There are definitely worse ways a young person can rebel against their family.  And not everyone likes my car either.  I did have a woman look it up and down one day and say, “well, it couldn’t be more yellow, could it?”.   She was trying. 

Look, I get neutrals.  They make a great backdrop for color in my opinion. They give anything a “classy” look.  I grew up in an avocado green, harvest gold environment that continued into the rose and country blue period and although it was technically “color”, it sure wasn’t happy.  When I asked for bright pink and purple for my room, I was told it was gaudy, so I tried to like l blue instead.  Still colorful but toned down a bit in the hopes I would find something less gaudy.  It didn’t work. Then I learned about the color wheel and now my house has a lot of blue with pops of orange.  Orange is happy.  Orange pops.  Orange scares some people, but not me.

Color for me is visual music.  Music isn’t all gray, black and white.  There are pops of color in music, it’s the color that makes life exciting. Color can be loud and soft, high or low intensity, just like music and I want to be surrounded by both.  I once had a discussion with a band parent about having green flags for our colorguard instead of the school’s colors of black and orange (tigers of course).  Not all music is black and orange.  Sometimes it’s green, or blue or bright red. Just like life, we can choose to live in a neutral, comfortable world without a lot of variation, or we can choose to add some bright colors to it, have a little adventure, and maybe even do something that people don’t like but you do it anyway because it speaks to you.   

I think of God when I see colors in nature.  He certainly didn’t stick with the neutrals.  Can you imagine a sunrise or sunset without all those bright colors?  Could you imagine the water around the Florida Keys being any less blue?  Spring is the optimum color palette and I always think why not bring that into my home all year around? Just look at a group of people with all their different hair colors, eye colors and skin tones.  This is a God who loves color and purposefully created with color.  Why shouldn’t I try to embrace that?

Maybe it’s a little silly to think you can change the world with color, but if it makes people smile and take the chance to bring more color into their own lives, it’s certainly a positive thing.  In the meantime, my happy little yellow bug and I will continue to do our best to make people smile and consider a little more color in their lives.

The space is a singer’s dream and a percussionist’s nightmare.  A musician stops making the sound, but the sound lingers, bouncing around the stone and marble.  The echo can completely muddle the sound or it can verify the perfection of a chord.  The last time I had sat in this room was almost exactly a year ago when I had the opportunity to hear a lovely college choir sing from the floor and the balconies.  I remember my eyes welling with tears listening to the stunning sound echoing across the room.  Literally a few days after this experience, our normal world ended and the echoes with it.  

I had taken this experience for granted.  Since being a part of our state music organization, I had probably participated in this event for a dozen years in a row, an opportunity to share what students are doing in the music classroom with state lawmakers.  The whole idea, other than an opportunity for students to play or sing in this amazing space, was to convince people in power that music was important enough for them to support.  After all, at the time we were able to play and sing whenever and wherever we wanted.  The past year took all of that away.

Today a wonderful group of 5^th and 6^th grade band students sat quietly in their chairs with their folding metal stands, music ready to go, waiting for the unicameral to finish their business for the morning.  I watched them as they craned their necks to check out the artwork and architecture, patiently waiting to play, not having a clue what that first cut-off was going to sound like.  Finally they were given the go ahead and following all of the director’s cues, played their first tune.  The director cut off their last note and the students froze.  And the sound echoed on.

I wish you could have seen that little blond flute player in the first row.  Her flute, still held horizontally, fingers still poised on her last note as her eyes widened, listening to that echo.  She wasn’t the only one.  The little smiles, the quick glances at their classmates told the story.  How cool was THAT?!?  Their enthusiasm grew with each piece.  Most had never been to the capital and none of them had ever played there.  For the first time in a year, I had the opportunity to see and do something I had done so many times over the years, but now it was through a new lens.  Yes, the concert series was to advocate for music education during Music in our Schools Month, but now it was so much more than that.  What a difference a year makes.

At the other end of the K-12 educational spectrum, a high school choir joined us.  Safely spaced,  the students wearing masks were the unpleasant reminder of what the last year had been.  On cue, the students removed the masks, put them in pockets and focused on their teacher.  And they took a breath.  

The sound was exquisite.  It was like I had never heard a choir before.  There was such beauty in the sound, the incredible focus of pitch, the matching of vowel sounds, so necessary when singing in a space like this.  But the real test would be in the echo.  And there it was, for several seconds after the sound left their bodies, it continued, perfectly in tune, perfectly in balance.  If that sound, the echo, didn’t advocate for itself, nothing would.  People would have to be robots to not feel something.  There was not a robot in the house.

The young 5^th and 6^th graders who stayed to listen to the second group were entranced, faces held in their hands, eyes locked on those singers, singers no more than seven years older than they.  It was the sound, the echoes.  Nobody moved at the end of each piece until the echo eventually faded and the applause began.  It was as if they didn’t want the sound to stop.  The little girl at the other end of the room from me, probably no more than four watched the conductor, moving her hands and arms with him with such grace.  You can’t tell me music isn’t a part of the human experience.  She had no intellectual investment, the music just spoke to her.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all perfect.  These were high school students after all, and the echo gave away their few mistakes as well, but it didn’t matter.  There was magic in the echo and a reminder that we’re going to survive this craziness and we’re going to step forward into the future, much like that echo.  It may not be exactly the same, but music is going to be there, changing people’s lives, filling their souls, giving everyone a reason to just stop and listen. To the echo.  

So, I’m in Kansas City, walking through Charming Charlie’s having been told that if I was looking for jewelry, this was the place to go.  A half hour later, and completely overwhelmed, my good natured husband and I are walking in the back of the store when this song comes on.  It has a great melody, a fabulous hook and, wait for it, a bridge.  Yes, I’m a geek who gets excited about a good bridge.  Anyway, long story short, it’s not so much about shopping at Charming Charlie’s, it’s that everytime I hear the song, I go back to Kansas City inside Charming Charlie’s.  

It’s 1974 and I’m sitting in my dad’s car in the parking lot of the A&P in Lexington, Kentucky.  Dad had run inside to shop for few minutes and I was listening to the radio when the song came on.  I had never heard it before, but the lyrics told a story and the chorus was amazing.  And just when it couldn’t get any better, there was a key modulation.  Oh my gosh!  So singable, such a great melody, and anytime I hear it I’m 14 years old again.  It’s once again dark outside, the windows in the car are open, the A&P sign is aglow, and the song is playing on the radio.  

Everyone I ever dated has music attached to them.  Friends are attached to certain songs or singing groups.  Occasions are tied to this music.  Music is attached to family members and it tends to be how I remember them best.  “KISS” and Led Zeppelin will forever be attached to my brother.  It was the 70’s. Sometimes I love remembering that music.  Sometimes I hate it.  I remember who I was with when I discovered Chicago, Elton John, Donna Summer, ELP, and thanks to my Doug, Gino Vannelli.  James Taylor and Jimmy Buffett take me back to trips to South Carolina and Florida. These memories are beyond important because I don’t have a lot of memories otherwise.  Long, long story for another blog.

Since leaving teaching, I’ve begun exploring my favorite songs and singers again.  I know that may sound strange, but I had become a bit burned out the last few years.  In the old days, I could sing the lyrics to a song while reading my homework without issue.  Now I’m trying to work and sing those lyrics at the same time and it’s a bit harder, but what I noticed is that despite the fact that I have very few memories of my past, I not only have no problem remembering the words to songs I sang 50 years ago, but I remember every dynamic level, every vowel sound, every little nuance.  I remember how it feels to create the sound.  It gives me comfort and in many cases, it brings back a memory I may have long forgotten except that it was attached to a song.  

This is what separates music from other subject matters for me.  I’ve never had a math problem take me back in time or help me remember friends.  A review of a scientific hypothesis doesn’t help me connect with emotions I had in college.  Well, except maybe frustration.  The closest thing for me might be books, which reread, can occasionally take me back in time to the first time I read it.  I’m grateful for both as they connect me to the better times of my past.  

For whatever reason, so many people say they would not have made it through school if not for music.  People are comforted by music during hard times, they’re lifted up, they celebrate and like me, they remember.  I don’t know if music is all that kept me in school, but I DO know that music was what made me excited to go to school.  It’s where I got to socialize, where I made friends, where we made music, made mistakes, strove for excellence, won and lost, laughed and cried.  These were and still are my people.  We all experienced the power of music together and some of my best memories are linked to doing everything with these people in high school and college.  We might not look at music the same way from a technical standpoint, but I know we look at it similarly from an emotional standpoint.  The fact that my fellow high school band geeks gather periodically to re-live those memories highlights the importance of making music together.  Not to continue giving other subjects a hard time, but it’s hard to imagine the math or science club meeting every 10 years to remember their experiences together.  It’s music that connects us and helps us create those memories.

Of course I’m speaking of these memories from a musician’s point of view, but this really is a human point of view.  There’s not one of you reading this who can’t think of a piece of music and relate a memory to it.  Whether it’s a date, a family member or a special occasion, the memories created and stirred by music are universal.  A subject this powerful should be taught to all children, don’t you think?  

Music, thanks for the memories.

One of the joys of teaching elementary general music in a public school is that you teach every child.  And one of the challenges is that you teach EVERY CHILD.  Every child with a myriad of abilities and lived experiences.  And for every child, there have to be strategies to get them engaged and active in music.  Even if they are selectively mute, or in a wheelchair or autistic at any and every point on the spectrum.  We teach EVERY child and the joy comes from finding ways to help every child share themselves through music.

Most music educators I know don’t do this by themselves.  It is a team effort with special education professionals, classroom teachers and paraeducators that help the student be successful.  I’ve always been so fortunate to have paraeducators who become so involved with their students that they participate with them in music class and it is magical.  So much of it has to do with the expectations of the adults that surround this child – we expect that child to give as much effort as possible no matter the level of their abilities.

You may notice I did not say DISability.  I have learned over the years that students with varied abilities will figure out unique ways to do what other students can do. So many times they know themselves so much better than I do, despite my good intentions.  I learned to leave one of my students alone who, with one hand, not only tied his own shoes in 1^st grade, but helped his friends tie theirs.  When it came to playing instruments, I would leave it up to him as to how it would work best for him.  You should have seen him play cello in 4^th & 5^thgrade.  

My non-verbal student in his wheelchair could only laugh and smile when his para would tap the beat or rhythm on his arm and help him “dance” in his wheelchair.  His demeanor completely changed when he came into our room.  The child who struggled to walk would insist on getting up and with help would sing and dance to the music, clapping with excitement.  He was such a joy and he made everyone want to join with him.

Autistic students have difficulty in social situations and most don’t like things sprung on them, but I’ll never forget parents crying when their autistic son, who had difficulty speaking up in class, sang his little part by himself in the 3^rd grade play. These students are such an inspiration not only to others in class, but to me as well.  They remind me that I should never be the barrier between my students with different abilities and what they can do.  

So many times when we talk about DEIA (Diversity, Equity, Inclusion and Access), we forget to consider these students.  They are perfectly capable of learning through connecting, responding, creating and performing music, it may just look a little different.  It’s up to us as teachers to figure out the best pathway to take to help them achieve.   This became especially clear when I met a student named Bea.  I had never met a child like her before in my teaching career.  I didn’t understand her expressive reactions to things, often misinterpreting her “flapping” to be her frustrations or anger and not her excitement.  Thank goodness for her paras who were with her all the time who kindly helped me interpret and come to find out, she loved music.  Not only did she love it, she understood it.  She learned to count and read and write music notation.  She sang with her class and moved to the music.  As a 5^th grader, she joined her classmates on Saturday field trips to watch opera streamed from the Met.  She understood the storylines and recognized the music.  She dressed up and sat through three hour operas better than most adults I know and she had a ball.  

Soon after, she left to go to middle school, and I left shortly after that to open another school on the other side of town, losing touch with her.  She had certainly captured my heart as well as others in our little school community.  As the years passed, she would enter my thoughts occasionally, and I actually used a picture of her attending the opera in one of my conference sessions.  That picture with the big smile, her arms spread in excitement, has a special place in my memory.  It was that same picture I remembered when I saw on social media that she had passed away suddenly last week.  My heart and so many other’s hearts are broken.  Such a sweet girl.

When the obituary came out, here’s what jumped out at me:

Beatrice was a sophomore at … where she was active in the marching band, pep band and color guard.

She was still doing music.

Music is for EVERY child, can make a difference for EVERY child of every ability, and in the lives of those who work with children.  What I learned from her and what she was capable of changed how I worked with all children after that.  There are no limits, there are just different pathways.  

It was an unlikely scenario.  A large group of high school students socially distanced in an auditorium and others joining through zoom were waiting to hear from their speaker, also zooming in.  The speaker arrives, and this unassuming older gentleman in a suit and tie and a smile on his face begins to speak.  Within minutes he has the young people eating out of his hand.  I’m watching the faces of the students on zoom and several are glued to the screen, smiling or laughing at the appropriate times, but mostly, unmoving and just listening.  For 60 minutes, this group of students was glued to this man, a couple of generations removed from them and what were they talking about?  Their similar experiences of being a part of music ensembles.

In most normal circumstances, these people would have nothing in common, no reason to talk to each other.  I’m sure these young people would have walked by this guy without so much as a look up from their phones. But the shared experiences were powerful, so powerful that I also found myself tearing up as he shared how lucky we were to have been a part of this thing called music making.  So lucky to have made lifelong friends doing something that challenged us on a daily basis. 

My dad was 34 years old when I was born, so nearly 40 before we began talking music together.  The 40 year old and the 6 year old, listening to and learning about music together.  That continued to be the story until shortly before he passed.  Every birthday and Christmas I would try to find something he would like to listen to and he would sit in his recliner and I would sit on the floor and we would listen and talk about it.  He shared his love of the Glenn Miller Orchestra, I introduced him to Manhattan Transfer.  It was a way to connect.  Almost two generations apart and it was music that brought us together.

Every year here at the flag ship university, the alumni band gets together to march at a halftime show.  Several generations, usually gathering at the crack of dawn, borrowing instruments, bringing their old instrument from home, gather to practice music and marching together.  Alumni who just graduated sharing stories with those who marched back in the 1950’s.  Again, maybe not anything in common except a common love of the marching arts. 

Maybe other subjects do this too.  Maybe young and old math lovers get together and talk numbers.  Maybe young and old grammar lovers talk words.  I don’t know.  I just can’t imagine them getting emotional about them, laughing, crying, sharing stories about those great math problems or diagraming sentences.  Great life skills I’m sure, but not memories they’ll share for a lifetime.  This is where the magic begins.  Not only does the love of making music span generations, it bonds us and creates memories for a lifetime.   

Many years ago I had the opportunity to have dinner with the family of one of my students.  I was a young teacher and this was the first time I had been invited to a student’s home.  Before we began the meal, they all stood in a circle – it was large family – and they sang the prayer in parts before the dinner.  I didn’t know the prayer, so I just got to listen.  What a joyful experience!  After the meal, they took time to sing together again.  I’ve never seen anything like that since, but it made such an impression on me.  The whole experience was so magical and it was so cool to watch this family bond through music.  Since moving here I’ve had the opportunity to meet many musical families, parents who teach, children who play or sing, where they take pride in the fact that music is what binds them together.  This past year, when everyone was locking down in their homes, some friends of ours got their kids together, dad on piano, son on guitar, mom and daughter on trumpet, another daughter singing and they recorded themselves to put on social media.  It was amazing and lit up social media.  Why?  It was good, don’t get me wrong, but it was the relationship building that was happening between generations that was again, so magical.

Maybe as music educators we need to consider opportunities to bring different generations of families and others together to talk about, listen to and make music.  While we may not agree on a lot of things, and we not have anything in common, including our generation, once the music begins, all of that goes away and we all just become musicians together.  I’ve had the opportunity to work with college students and elementary age children together to make music and it’s an amazing experience.  It goes back to what I talked about yesterday –  watching the youngster’s faces when the “big kids” sing or play instruments with them is priceless and the college students begin to see a glimpse of how they can make life meaningful to children through music, perhaps seeing the magic of sharing the gift of music for generations to come.  

Sometimes people talk very glibly about the power of music.  It’s a universal language, it brings people together.  All very nice, but apparently not powerful enough to always fund music in schools or insist that every child have music instruction.  It’s all well and good when lawmakers stand on the steps of the Capitol singing some patriotic song after a disaster, but providing that experience in the classroom on a regular basis, not so much.  Do I seem a little frustrated – occasionally.  

When music teachers constantly have to advocate for the subject they teach for the benefit of kids, and other subjects don’t, yes, it gets frustrating.  And forgot trying to advocate after the fact.  As my friend Lance says, advocacy is a wellness program, not something you do after you’re in the hospital.  I may have paraphrased a bit – sorry Lance – but you get the idea.  What I might suggest to those who may not believe in the power of music and music education is to watch the faces.

The power lies in watching toddlers dance and make sounds with music.  It comes from the 3^rd graders I had to opportunity to teach this week.  We were only learning about a form in music, by doing, of course, and the look on their faces as they successfully created a chant in the correct form and received applause was intoxicating.  Where else can a child not only learn about a musical concept but composition, collaboration, and audience etiquette as well.  I could see the smiles even through the masks as the corners of their eyes crinkled.  

I’ve watched music educators tear up talking about how excited their students were to play their instruments and sing again, and students expressing how they had missed making music together.  Not alone – TOGETHER.  Because there is nothing like making music with your friends and colleagues.  I’ve seen professional musicians cry describing the first time they got to play their instrument again with others.  But of course, you say, these are all musicians.  They’re supposed to be excited doing what they love.  And if that was all it was, music wouldn’t be that powerful, would it?

The power of music is that it elicits emotions and memories for everyone.  I was watching my husband watch one of his favorite groups tonight, playing songs he remembered from high school and college.  I watched his face light up as he remembered the horn licks.  Time goes away and you feel the age you were at the time you first heard it.  I watched the faces of the people at the concert, the smiles, the singing, the light in the eyes, the childlike joy in the sounds remembered from long ago.  There is no bigger high than to watch people’s faces when you make music.  

That was something I always did with my students.  4^th and 5^th graders don’t necessarily like singing slow songs or ballads.  They’re not fun or exciting.  Until you tell them that if they do it right, they’ll make people cry.  That the power of the music they make will affect other’s emotions.  And it works.  So every semester I programmed a piece that would tug at the heartstrings and watched the faces of my students react to the faces of the audience.  It wasn’t just the slow songs however.  They watched the audience smile, sing, move and respond to the music they created and they realized how powerful they could be in bringing joy to others.  

Music provides a pathway for those suffering from memory loss, communicating through musical memories, not only mentally but through muscle memory as well.  Our population is getting older and the percentage of those suffering is increasing.  Powerful music is going to be necessary for their quality of life.

The power affects the person singing to music in their car next to you, the person dancing with their cart in the grocery store, the person singing to Sweet Caroline at the football game.  I have watched upper crust clientele sing and laugh and improvise with Bobby McFerrin at a Symphony concert just like I’ve seen children sing and laugh and dance with Yo Gabba Gabba.  Music allows us to step out of our comfort zones, to become like children, to release our anxieties and increase endorphins.  It’s the miracle drug, providing a healthy high you won’t get anywhere else.  If you don’t believe me, just stop and watch the faces.  

When it comes to music in our schools, I may not be the best person in the world to talk to.  I am pretty biased when it comes to what I believe are the benefits of music for all children.  You see, I have been the beneficiary of this amazing subject matter for such a long time that I can’t remember a time when it wasn’t an important part of my life.  I have since hopefully become a benefactor as well, passing on the gift of music and the importance of music education to others.  

I say that I may not be the best person because I’ve never known anything else.  My earliest memories are of listening and singing to music on the albums my dad gave me and those he listened to himself.  Listening to and understanding music, discerning the names of the instruments I heard and matching pitches with the vocalists was something I did on a daily basis.  I think that as a child I assumed everyone did this.  I loved to sing and there was something so satisfying about making my voice sound like whoever I was listening to, the more chromatic, the better.  I was audiating before I understood what it was, picking pitches out of the air because I could hear them in my head.  I remember making an advanced choir in 6^th grade and the audition consisted of listening to a song a few times and then trying to sing what I remembered.  Apparently I did well, but I remember not being very sure of myself, as I was just singing what I thought was the next natural progression, not reading.  Doesn’t everyone do that?  What a gift that was.

That gift saved me in aural skills in college where for me it was a combination of sightreading and going where it sounded like it needed to go.  That’s what happens when you file an amazing amount of repertoire in your head from day one.  I just wish it had done the same for me in theory.  But that’s another blog for another day.  Music for me was all about how it sounded and how it made me feel.  It still is, and because it was so powerful for me, I want others to experience this as well.

This gift also saved me during the dark times of my life. Times where I was afraid and needed refuge.  A place I could go when someone told me I was a failure and music told me deep down that I was not.  A place where I could go and know these were my people when members of my own family were not.  It provided a place where I belonged, forging lifelong friends and taking me places I never dreamed I would be.  Music has provided an opportunity to meet the most amazing people who also believe in the power of music and it challenges me on to doing even more than I thought I could.  How could I ever NOT wish this for my students, my student teachers, my fellow colleagues?

How could you not want this for all students?  How could you not celebrate and advocate for music in our schools?  You may say, well, music is just not my thing.  I get that.  So, if it’s not your thing, don’t ever attend a concert again.  Don’t ask for a pep band at the basketball game or a marching band for football.  Don’t have music in a movie to help propel the story.  Don’t sing to show solidarity. Don’t have music for your wedding or your parent’s funeral. Don’t sing with that favorite song that takes you back to another time.  Even for those who say music is not your thing, you can’t escape it.  Because as I said in my last blog, it is a part of your DNA.  It is a part of what it is to be human. Why again, should it not be essential in our public schools? Not everyone is as fortunate as I was to have a music lover in the house who wanted to share that love with me.  He often shared his regret of not pursuing his music further as a young person, so he made it a point that at least I would learn to love it.  I am grateful.

So yes, I’m a little biased – or a lot biased.  I believe music is every bit as essential as any and every other subject.  I believe every child would benefit academically, physically, spiritually and emotionally if they just had music emphasized in schools, just as reading and math are emphasized.  I believe these things because I have lived and continue to live them.  And we haven’t even begun to look at the research behind this.  Another blog for another day.  In the meantime, why don’t you go to Spotify or pull out your favorite album from back in the day and find that song that takes you back.  You might be more biased towards music than you think.