Jeremy taught me about business hours. Jeremy began violin lessons at age three, and
it soon became apparent that he had a mild case of what the experts now call
"attention deficit disorder." To me he was just Jeremy, not much
different from the rambunctious boys Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn and I had been in our
Missouri boyhoods.
Jeremy's ADD
generally manifested itself in sudden outbursts of questions. Often in the
middle of a musical phrase I'd hear things such as: "Guess what my dog did
this afternoon!" These distractions
sometimes brought his mother to the verge. But she understood when I signaled
to relax and let me handle the situation.
Any good
teacher knows this kind of behavior cannot be redirected by scolding, punishment, or promises or reward; only by patient and persistent encouragement to focus on the job at
hand and leave other concerns for their appropriate time. Such redirection may take years to develop,
but is worth the effort. Jeremy is one
of those "hyper" kids who is extremely intelligent. His brain just
races far ahead of him.
Partly because of
Jeremy, I developed a policy of “business hours” for all my students. Business
hours, I explain to new students and parents, is the time between the opening
bow of respect and the closing bow of respect.
Before opening bows or after closing bows we can joke, chat, laugh, whatever.
Between bows, however, serious work about learning how to play the violin must
be done. This doesn't mean we can't have fun during business hours, but our
attention must be violin-oriented.
Business hours might last a minute or an hour, depending on the age and
level of the student. Closing time is
always up to me, and if I am quick and sensitive enough, that comes before the
student is ready for it!
My studio, at the back
of my house, has a sliding screen door that opens onto the patio at right
angles to another screen door into my dining room. While teaching I cannot see what is happening on the patio, but my students
can. One fine spring day
Jeremy, then twelve, came for his lesson. We chatted awhile, had our opening
bow, tonalized and settled down to "bidniss." Midway through his
lesson, at an uncharacteristically convenient stopping point, Jeremy asked,
"Mr. McSpadden, can I ask you something after the lesson?" I was
thrilled! Jeremy was finally learning to focus his attention on business hours.
Delighted, I said, "Of course," and made a mental note to ask him
about his question after the lesson.
Immediately after our last bow I said, "Now Jeremy, what was it you
wanted to ask me?"
"Mr. McSpadden," he replied,"
why did your cat run into the house a while ago with a lizard in its
mouth?"
'Nuf said about bidniss??
Joseph McSpadden
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