Plucking for Dinner

Right before dinner tonight The Maestro said something to Riley about doing the pizzicato song. I didn’t know what he meant, but Riley went over to the computer and turned on the 4th movement of the Elgar Cello Concerto. I had recommended this as listening, along with a few other pieces, but didn’t know they had picked it up from the library. I started air-bowing and fingering along, quite expressively (and ridiculously) as you all can imagine. The Maestro immediately ran out of the room. I worried that I had scared him, but he came back in a few seconds with his old, beaten up violin that he has had as a toy for some time. He asked for Riley to “play it again.” She started the 4th movement over again. For those of you who know the piece, you remember that there’s an ad lib cello part at the beginning, with a very noticeable one-note, forte (or is it sfz?) tutti pizzicato in the orchestra. Right on cue and right on the beat, The Maestro plucked his old violin with the rest of the orchestra. I roared with laughter, absolutely stunned that he was able to do this, and also delighted that he and I were sharing one of my favorite games with one of my favorite pieces. The Maestro’s parents got out his cello, and we spent the next 5-10 minutes playing the beginning of the movement over and over, with The Maestro saying, “Play it again!” It appeared that he was motivated both by the fun of playing with the orchestra and also by the delight on my face. He said more than once, “Look at my teacher!”
This past summer, the very first time Riley and I spoke about getting The Maestro in music lessons somewhere, Riley mentioned that The Maestro learned differently from other kids. I told her, a little arrogantly, that a good teacher would be able to teach in The Maestro’s learning style. I had only a slight (intuitive) idea that I was speaking to myself as his future teacher. Tonight’s Elgar activity was a good reminder that I do need to meet his needs and not follow a particular teaching method by rote. Riley mentioned tonight that The Maestro isn’t practicing the way that she would like him to. After some thought, I’m convinced that The Maestro isn’t practicing the way that she imagines a Suzuki student should practice, or the way she imagines I want him to practice. It’s possible she has some ideal practice image in her mind and is afraid they’re not meeting that ideal. But if The Maestro can pluck the Elgar orchestra pizzicato (and, incidentally, Riley can conduct it absentmindedly while carrying on a conversation about something else), some sort of practicing has obviously gone on at their house. Riley had an idea to study the lesson notes when he isn’t around, kind of like I study the Sunday school lesson when I’m not actually with the kids so I can “wing it” later. Then she can catch him at random moments, when he is ready for a small bit of music, and make those moments relevant to what I’ve taught in lessons. Tiny moments throughout the day can really add up – and might be more effective than one small 15-minute session each day. The most important thing is not what Suzuki or T.C. or S.P. would do, but what The Maestro needs. Now I’ve just got to think of how to manage things from my end. I’m not nearly as creative as Riley. Time for prayer.