Photo credit: Siniz Kim via Unsplash
As a teacher, my reputation for being able to teach people to play and sing well pretty much speaks for itself. My website features a whole page of student videos doing what they do - some singing, some playing, and some doing both at the same time.
But I have to admit - teaching kids provides you with major challenges. One of them being the pressure from other adults - and their parents - to constantly bolster their tiny egos instead of their skills.
Growing up singing in church, I had only one real source of truthful feedback: my mother. I was something of a prodigy myself, so adults had a tendency to fawn over me. But my mother was there every time I sang, whether it be a mass or the school play. That gave her not only the unique ability to provide honest feedback, but the position in my life of really understanding when I had performed well and when I hadn’t.
And when it came to the times I hadn’t- she never held back.
If I had sung badly, she would simply say, “Well…you weren’t in full voice today.” “Full voice”, of course, meant I was killing it. And not being in full voice didn’t imply that I totally sucked. It was her way of saying something could be improved - even if she didn’t really know how to direct me towards how to do that.
For women of Generation X, our mothers were very often are worst critics. But many of them, having been raised in American life before the new softer gentler parenting approach, also knew that neither extreme would make their child any better at their goals.
Too critical and you kill their spirit.
Too doting and you encouraged not only an out of control ego, but an unrealistic assessment of themselves.
At the crux of this balance is one singular important practice: absolute honesty.
One of the things I tell my students from the beginning of their lessons is that I will always be honest with them. Because they can’t be better with me blowing smoke up their bums.
I encourage it from them also. My entry to every lesson is the question, “So…did you practice?” When the inevitable stammering occurs, I usually say, “Just tell me now. I need to know where you’re at and I’ll be able to tell anyway as soon as you start playing,” which inevitably draws laughs and allows them to get their confession over with.
Over the course of their lessons, they eventually realize that practicing is the only gateway to actual praise. Unlike their parents, I have no reason to reward them for doing badly or not improving at all.
They catch on pretty quickly that although I might like them as people, there’s no reason for me to be impressed with them if they don’t improve or try. Unlike their parents, I don’t reward them for just being alive. We also don’t immediately operate under the assumption that I “love” them or even like them. When I give them feedback it isn’t colored with emotion. It’s a simple state of fact of what went right and what went wrong.
The skill part of doing this comes with exactly HOW you do it, which is where some teachers fail. Particularly now, when children are used to living in a world where they are almost bubble-wrapped and filled with adults trying to guard their emotions at every turn.
My favorite strategy for the use of unfettered honestly gets employed shortly after the student fails miserably at playing what they were supposed to have been practicing for a week.
Me: “You know what I like about you, X?”
Them: “What?”
Me: “Even when it’s totally wrong, you play with a lot of heart!”
Or
Me: “Even when you don’t quite have it, you don’t quit trying!”
Or
Me: “All the rhythms were wrong, but the notes were right, so you’re halfway there!”
This initial feedback sets up a realistic expectation in a student. Because it lets them know you aren’t a pushover, and you absolutely without a doubt are not passing their bad performance. They are expecting to still work at it, but you have given them something to feel good about ALONGSIDE their failure.
This, “You Know What I Like About You” technique also does wonders on really bad attitude or depression days where something at school is so troubling that no amount of music will fix it.
More importantly, recognizing a strength when they fail lets them know you see potential in them and they shouldn’t just give up at doing something they don’t naturally do well.
After this initial step, comes the actual much more important one:
You immediately give them another chance. On top of the re-connect to the possibility that they might do better the second time, it lets them know you are willing to change your mind if they do.
If it’s better, you can fist bump. Or high five. Or do a little dance together. They get a dopamine hit and know you aren’t just judging one bad pass.
But if it’s worse or truly awful, you answer in the following way:
“Okay…that was TERRIBLE.” And you laugh. And they will almost always laugh with you. (I have never had a student break down crying as of yet.)
And they now understand that your brutal honesty is actually not to be feared. They understand that they could have done better and that you, as a teacher, SHOULD hold them accountable for doing it right, so they can make it happen.
With practice in your delivery, this brutal honestly about good things and bad becomes an easy communication method that allows you to critique a child without tearing down their confidence. Laughter goes a long way while employing it and also shows that you aren’t taking the experience too seriously.
The overall approach creates trust. And respect. And an underlying message that if they heed your advice, they’ll achieve what they are actually shooting for.
And the wonderful happy by-product that benefits not only them, but their families and society at large:
Humility.
The realization that although their parents may worship the ground they walk on, other adults don’t. And that certain skills can’t be either imagined or, when lacking, covered up by lying, boasting, or pretending.
I use the same approach with slightly different language with older teens and adults, but the results are the same: your student always know they can trust your fair assessment and that you aren’t going to be either a pushover or hyper-critical.
And the unintended consequence is what happens when they truly do blow you away: you heap glowing praise on them and watch their eyes light up that they have finally hit that evasive milestone.
Some get tears in their eyes. Most leave with a mile-wide smile and a spring in their step.
All of them learn that when learning music there’s no value in anything other than WHAT ACTUALLY IS TRUE.
Building happy balanced kids isn’t JUST about loving them. It’s about helping them become themselves. Which is why I’ve loved being a teacher and a mentor to so many kids, teens and adults.
Parents can use this same approach with their kids to help them balance their egos and build self-esteem in actual skills. Whenever you’re trying to teach them something, you need to employ honesty just as much as a reward system or glowing praise.
Turns out the truth actually DOES set you free.
As long as its delivery is masterfully executed.
Beautifully stated. I love the way you balance your praise with constructive criticism. Honesty is the best policy. The number one conversation I had with my children growing up was "trust is everything." I assured them that we could handle any terrible thing together but they had to tell me the truth.