I’ve been hesitant to post about my retirement. (I didn’t want to ask Chat GPT to write it for me. lol.) It’s a lot, as they say, lots of people, lots of successes, some disappointments, and lots of incredible students, parents, and colleagues. And for much of my career, band time was family time, even before the kids joined and my wife Renee became a band parent. So, it’s not an easy topic for a single Facebook post, so I will write a series of posts instead and complile them all here in WordPress.
Retirement Post #1: From the country
I didn’t have the longest career, but I’m proud of it. I’m from the country, y’all, from a blank spot on the Verizon coverage map. And although I had some disadvantages being from a rural area, I was highly fortunate in some crucial ways. I had parents who expected me to do well, who demonstrated hard work, and who raised me around music. I could sight-sing from the shaped note hymnal before I started band in 6th grade. I had an incredibly enthusiastic young high school band director, Fred Barlow, who helped all of us in the Hickman County, Tennessee, band program to broaden our perspective, and among other things, encouraged me to audition for the first Tennessee Governor’s School for the Arts where I performed in an orchestra for the first time, led by Kenneth Schermerhorn, who studied at Tanglewood with Bernstein. And last but not least, I had a high school friend group that also loved band, and four of us went on to become band directors.
Retirement Post #2: Worlds Colliding
For most of my career, my band world was also my family world. Before the girls were in band and my wife was also a band parent (insert George Costanza “worlds colliding” reference), Renee brought the girls to pretty much every band event. Katherine’s first band contest was in 1993 in Milan, Tennessee (Pete Evans was the director there, a legendary Tennessee bandmaster), when she was about six weeks old. Meredith was born on the same day as John Overton’s 1998 Christmas Concert. (My sincere apologies to Jo Ann Hood, my colleague at the time for missing that concert!.) Both girls were in band at Franklin, taking lessons, participating in Solo and Ensemble, All Mid-State Band and such, and both did summer music camps and were SWAGs at the Music for All Summer Symposium.
Renee was indispensable, helping with vision, spreadsheets, communication, and being a sounding board for decisions of all magnitudes, in addition to her career as a corporate accountant. Both girls are wise beyond their years and helped me better understand the student experience, and I became a more empathetic teacher when they became my students. We celebrated dozens of birthdays and anniversaries at All Mid-State Band events, TnMEA Conferences, and back-to-school happenings. Things didn’t always work out as planned, but often the result was more than we could’ve hoped for.
We went through it together, all the joys and heartbreaks. The joys were great, like a big bowl of ice cream. We celebrated and took pictures. I’m delighted they happened. But we learned and grew from the heartbreaks and the struggles. Struggles like seeing Katherine transpose a bassoon solo mid-performance because her instrument wouldn’t cooperate or watching unflappable 9th-grade Meredith ask for a line in the middle of a talent show solo performance, or knowing that in 2013 Renee was shouldering the weight of the world when both her parents died made my band problems seem a little petty. Our family world gave me the strength to persevere, to carry the fire in our band world (Thank you, Cormac McCarthy).
So I’m sorry, George Costanza. I’m glad my worlds collided!
Retirement Post #3: Is blissful the correct adjective?
For the most part, the first month of this summer felt the same as all the summers since my first year of teaching. But the last few days have felt VERY different. I’m not sure about all the other teachers out there, but before the start of a new year, my brain would occupy itself with questions, anticipation, worry, existential dread, sleepless nights, and more existential dread. I wanted to be prepared, so I spent a lot of time thinking through all the “what-ifs,” so I could respond and not miss a beat when the time came. Mulling over all those potential problems beforehand certainly allowed me to do my job better. But, it came at a cost because I’d be deep in thought on Sunday evening instead of enjoying my time with Renee and the girls. But now, that dread is gone. And it’s great.
I’m still a rookie at retirement, and I expect that my calendar will begin to fill and there will be more things to worry about, but for now, I’m going to enjoy this (is blissful the correct adjective here?) time.
Retirement Post #4: Impermanence
When you’re a high school band director trying to achieve at a high level, you feel the weight of the world almost all the time, the feeling that you alone bear the responsibility for the program. But a profound realization struck me when I left school for the last time. It was the end for me, but not the end for everyone else. (Lol. Imagine a high school band director thinking that the world revolves around themselves.) As I was exiting the building, band kids were organizing lockers. When I drove through the parking lot, athletes were working out in the stadium. For over 30 years, I was a part of public education, but it existed long before me and will continue long past my last day.
A teaching career is a bit like a canoe trip on a river. Your schooling equips you with a vessel, paddles, and a basic idea of using your equipment. But lacking experience, it doesn’t take long before you tip the canoe over or run aground. That’s okay. That’s how you truly learn to navigate the waters. In time, you learn how to feel the canoe in the current, predict its direction, and glide around and over most obstacles.
When you put in, you’re joining something that already exists, something you didn’t create or fully understand. You are in the water for a time, with all the beauty, speed, wonder, impediments, fear, backwater, and excitement that goes with it. When your trip is over, you can recount all the experiences, how you paddled, and what you saw. But the river keeps going and will twist and turn without you.
By outward appearances, the river is a monolith. But the truth is that the river changes every moment, led by time and gravity, guided by well-worn paths, tweaked by the landscape, as water is continually being added and subtracted. Likewise, a career in education is more about innumerable granular moments than a velvety, glossed-over thumbnail sketch. As society transforms and elected officials legislate for votes, education’s path gets redirected, and teachers and administrators must traverse unfamiliar waters to continue; all the while, students and colleagues come and go. Our brains like to make life into simple linear arithmetic where A causes B, B causes C, and so on. But it’s much more complex than that. Unseen variables are always beneath the surface, changing the current and making the journey unpredictable.
I was in my canoe for a time, paddling and trying my best not to tip over. I saw more than my share of beautiful sights and went through some rough waters. And when I reached the shore and left my vessel, the river flowed on. It feels good to know that school keeps going, even though I won’t be going back to school.
Retirement Post #5: August
Renee and I were talking the other day, and I asked, “What does August feel like?” I honestly don’t know. I can tell you what April feels like, with its warming temperatures, new life, and the sweetness of fresh blooms. I can tell you that February feels gray, 37 drizzling degrees, and monochromatic. But what about August? Frankly, I don’t know because band camp, school starting, the first football game, and all that goes with that grind have often dulled my senses in August and for much of the rest of the Fall too. I can’t tell you how many times I wouldn’t notice that the leaves had changed colors until November. My only indicator of Fall’s approach was the inevitable switch from t-shirt to hoodie. I would become so focused on work that I’d skip from July 4 to Thanksgiving, and all the fine points of late summer’s sensations would be mixed up into a sort of marching band season stew.
I started journaling a few years ago, and from time to time, I’ll go back and read my monthly entries. And, like February, August has been a rough month for me. August has given me migraines, lousy sleep, poor diet, lack of exercise, and lots of hot, hard work. But just as February begets March and April and the return of hummingbirds and well-performed music, August begets the excitement of Friday night lights, kettle corn, Saturday tailgates, and the pride of watching students grow and thrive.
So dear readers, what does August feel like to you? Heat, humidity, and the optimism of newly sharpened pencils?
Retirement Post 6: Friends and Mentors
“If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.”
I’ve had some great friends, colleagues, and mentors during my career. I’ve been lucky to have people who helped me along the way and held me accountable when I needed it. I worked in the same building with a few of them and even shared an office with a handful of them. Some of my professional best friends live miles away, and we must rely on text and Snapchat to stay in touch. (For my aged friends, don’t overlook Snapchat. It’s a lot of fun. Also, by saying that, I just made Snapchat less appealing.)
By nature, I’m an introvert. I recharge my batteries by being alone. I’ve worked with folks who are the opposite, who need to be around people to get back their energy, and that was awkward at times, to say the least. (By awkward, I mean contentious, combative, hostile, feisty…) But being an introvert doesn’t mean I always want to fly solo; otherwise, I’d go feral. I need to be around people that I like and admire. They help me get out of my head. They give me context and perspective. They inspire me.
Nowadays, when I see young teachers who keep their heads down and try their best not to be noticed, I worry for them. I was lucky enough to work with Jo Ann Hood for six years. If you work with Jo Ann, there’s no place to hide. (iykyk. She’s like the house guest that walks right in and starts sorting through your junk drawer.) Much to my introvert’s chagrin, Jo Ann thrust me out in front of people and into the light. As a relatively young director, there’s no greater fear than rehearsing your first Grade VI work with Jo Ann Hood, Rick Murphy, and Bill Hull watching. Talk about different perspectives. How do you balance Bill Hull’s comments about 3rd clarinet intonation on the and of 3 in measure 37 with Rick Murphy shouting, “More lilt?!” Ouch, I needed a moment after that one. Of course, that rehearsal ended with a big hug from Jo Ann and some incredible words of encouragement. She performed surgery on me, removing flaws and putting me back together. I’ll always be grateful for that. If young folks are reading this, find your own Jo Ann Hood. (Or just call her, and whatever she says, trust and obey.)
Regardless, I’m grateful to have worked with some incredible humans. I won’t name all the names here, but I do have to thank Jo Ann Hood and Rick Murphy. Thanks, Jo Ann and Rick! Young teachers, go and get yourselves a mentor and find some good teacher friends to help you get through it. If you do those things, you’ll go far!
Retirement Post #7: Where could I find more splendid company?
I wouldn’t have made it past my first year without Ken and Dianne Reed. Mr. and Mrs. Reed both worked at Beaver School in Henderson County, Tennessee, he as principal and she as a teacher. Mr. Reed was band booster president at my first job in Lexington, Tennessee. I was struggling with making decisions, a brand new teacher trying to please everyone. That never works. (As an aside, shouldn’t we have classes in decision-making, especially for people who will lead organizations?) Anyway, mired in a back-and-forth about some whatnot I can’t recall, I got a handwritten card from them with a piece of advice I used throughout my career. Unfortunately, I didn’t save the card; I didn’t realize that it would be one of the most profound bits of advice anyone would give me about teaching. It said that you can’t please everyone, that every teacher worth their salt always has someone mad at them, and that I should do what I think is best. After that sank in, I felt simultaneously relieved and empowered. Mr. and Mrs. Reed have passed away, but I will always appreciate their guidance.
Band students are a special lot. For a kid, often it’s hard to be in band, and society doesn’t make it any easier. School bands, usually comically bad ones, are one of the go-to tropes of any teenage movie or TV show. And just the day-to-day of being in band is challenging. “Hey, wanna go to Sonic with me?” said one teen to another. “No, I’ve got to carry this tuba around for the next two hours after school,” replied the other. Like the students involved in athletics, committing to a band program means delaying gratification. It means choosing practice over Sonic. Unlike athletics, in most schools, kids in band don’t receive the same extrinsic praise and admiration from their student cohorts. Band kids are there for something else. Maybe it’s a love interest (lol); perhaps they’ve found a community that fits them; maybe they love music.
And while we’re here, loving music isn’t just a feeling. Loving music means having the discipline to sit in a practice room by yourself for hours in pursuit of ever-elusive perfection. It means confronting deep fears of failure and public embarrassment. It means balancing technical proficiency with artistic vision. (By the way, I understand that the corpus callosum is larger in musicians. That’ll get you a date for sure.)
Doesn’t society need the qualities that make a great high school band student? Committed, cooperative, disciplined, artistic, creative, intrinsically motivated? I’ve been lucky to spend my teaching career around these people. Many of them have gone on to pursue music as a career, but most have not. That’s okay. I hope their experience compels them to support the arts regardless of their profession. As the legendary coach John Wooden would say as he quoted Glennice L. Harmon, “Where could I find more splendid company?”
If band students are a special lot, then how do I describe band parents? “Hey, can you build 11 giant star props that can be moved by students while being heavy enough to withstand wind gusts inside a stadium?” Or “Can anyone make a bunch of 12 foot wearable robot props that imitate human movement that will be worn by teenagers that weigh100 pounds soaking wet?” Or “We’re getting 30 students we didn’t plan for so we need to raise $30,000 in the next month to purchase additional uniforms and equipment.” Or “We don’t own a single concert band instrument. We need to raise a large amount of money to properly equip our students.” Those are all real examples of miraculous feats performed by band parents in my career. Every band I’ve taught has had incredible band parents who balanced volunteering with their full-time occupations. Parents who sew flags, manage logistics of band travel, work in concessions, chaperone, write and execute non-profit by-laws and budgets with the bottom line of a small business, and feed and water teenagers are parents who demonstrate to their children what love and sacrifice really mean.
And on a personal note, Renee and I wouldn’t have made it without band parents. I can’t name everyone, and I’m sure I’ve missed saying “thank you” an embarrassing number of times. Like Ken and Dianne Reed, band parents helped with providing counsel and insight, babysitting when our kids were young (We wouldn’t have survived the 1999-2000 school year without Helen and Lloyd Stanley, two wonderful parents at John Overton), love and support in our hard times (especially when Renee had her stroke), deep friendship, and precious time together that I will treasure forever. Where could I find more splendid company?
Retirement Post #8: The stroke
I’ve been dreading this one. As I start this, I’m sitting in a favorite place in my backyard, on an unseasonally cool day, wearing my favorite shirt, fully caffeinated, next to the dogs. If I’m going down the seedy under-belly of memory lane, I might as well do it in comfortable surroundings.
Renee does not have a great family health history. Both her Mother and her Grandmother died unusually young. Because she is a conscientious person, for years Renee has been diligent about being active and trying to prevent a catastrophic health event. I remember that in the summer of 2011, Renee regularly got 30,000 steps in A DAY. At the time, her workplace, Manchester Tank and Equipment, sponsored a health initiative where the employees were asked to wear a pedometer and track their daily steps. Renee can be “a little” competitive (more like a lot competitive), so she went all out for this. I can remember clearly that we’d finish dinner, and I’d sit down for what I thought would be a nice after-dinner chat, and she’d say, “Well I’m only at 20,000 steps. I’ll be back in a little while.” Jeez. Or she’d get up at 4 AM to run from our house in Smyrna all the way around the neighborhood hospital and back. Meanwhile, I’d struggle to walk to the coffee maker, much less run 4 miles before sunup.
During our work lives, we’d usually communicate during the day, whether just a text or phone call. Those little touchpoints were small but powerful connections that have helped sustain our relationship for over thirty years. On September 13, 2022, we had one of those check-ins that caused me some concern. We texted back and forth during the day, and she said she was dizzy. No big deal, right? If you live in Tennessee and deal with allergy and sinus problems being a little light-headed during the fall heat isn’t a big deal. She went to the clinic, and they tested her for COVID, checked her blood pressure, and confirmed that she didn’t have COVID or the flu. It was a Tuesday, and after school I had a rehearsal, followed by a band booster meeting. Her dizziness continued, so she asked a colleague to drive her home. At this point, I’m getting concerned. Renee is a good driver and has always enjoyed the commute. I don’t recall a time when she couldn’t drive herself home. I went to the band booster meeting, gave my report, and left early to check on her. When I arrived home, it was obvious that she didn’t feel well. The clinic had prescribed a motion sickness medicine, so I assumed that her being in the fetal position was due to the effects of the medication and not anything more serious.
The following morning on September 14, it was clear that we were embroiled in an emergency situation. At 5:47 AM, I sent this text to my principal and some colleagues at Siegel High:
“I’m taking Renee to the emergency room this morning. She has a history of strokes and is having motor skill and speech problems. I’ll keep you posted.”
Renee couldn’t speak or walk normally when we got to the ER. Her speech was significantly slurred, and she was understandably overcome with panic. A few minutes later, I sent this text to Katherine and Meredith:
“Girls, I’m at the Stonecrest ER with your Mom. She has dizziness, limited motor skills and is having trouble speaking. We’ve just gone through the initial checks for stroke and they’re doing a CT scan now. I’ll keep you posted.”
At 7:36 I sent this text to the girls:
“Well we just did the Wordle together so I don’t think it’s a stroke. Lol. Waiting on CT results. A nurse just told me that they’re admitting her. She’s able to speak now. Her blood pressure is high.”
We spent the rest of that day getting her admitted and settled in her room. That afternoon she had an MRI in addition to the CT scan earlier. At that point, we had many more questions than answers. Late that night, I went home to sleep.
At 5:55 AM on September 15, I sent this text to the girls:
“I’m headed to the hospital. Evidently she had some sort of episode, which included low heart rate, and they sent her to ICU. They say she’s stable. I’ll keep you posted, kids. Love you.”
During the night, Renee had gotten up to use the restroom, had a Bradycardia episode and her heart rate dropped to 49 bpm. The rapid response team was called, and they sent her to ICU. That’s where I found her that morning. At about 11 AM, the doctor did confirm that she’d had a stroke, most likely her second one. After her heart rate returned to normal, we left ICU for a regular room. At this point, she still had nearly normal speech and movement.
Of course, I was out of school since Wednesday, and things were leveling out on Friday. Meredith took me to Murfreesboro to retrieve Renee’s vehicle from work. I even considered going with the band to the Bands of America Regional in Clarksville the next day. Thank goodness I didn’t go. At 6:22 AM on Saturday, September 17, I sent this to the girls:
“She had another incident last night. She and the nurse got her in the bathroom and when she was washing her hands she got really weak. Her heart rate dropped again and they called for rapid response. She’s still in room 210 but it’s going to trigger more tests and what not. Her speech is worse, at least right now. Of course, none of us speak well when we first wake up.”
That afternoon I remember running home to check on something. I’d been so busy with everything that was going on that I hadn’t had time to react emotionally, until that moment. As I exited the doors of the hospital into a beautiful September afternoon, the tears began to flow. I cried and sobbed all the way home as the gravity of the situation began to wash over me.
That was the day the stroke “expanded.” That was the day she lost speech, normal swallowing, most of the use of her right leg and foot, and complete use of her right arm. That was the day we held each other as best we could and faced the realization that it might be that way for the rest of our lives. Thank goodness I stayed with Renee and didn’t go with the band to Clarksville.
Through our tears, we could see the path Renee had so often run on out the hospital window.
Retirement Post #9: The On-Going Recovery
Have you ever thought about how to pronounce “milkshake?” When was the last time you considered the steps of putting on a shirt? Have you ever gotten out of bed and needed twelve minutes to walk to the restroom and back? For stroke victims, simple things become obstacles that take analysis, step-by-step effort, and grit to overcome. These are just a few challenges that Renee has undertaken in her stroke recovery. (One of those steps was singing “My Milkshake Brings All the Boys to the Yard.”)
A week after the stroke saga began, Renee began a three-week stint in rehab. (No, not that rehab. The one for stroke patients.) Oh, the things we learned through this ordeal. One is that Tri-Star Southern Hills in Nashville has an excellent stroke rehabilitation program. Her speech, occupational, and physical therapists were fantastic, as was the doctor on duty. As it would happen, most of the folks helping her were local band folks, and her doctor was a BDK from Memphis (that’s band director’s kid, for my non-band friends.) As someone who spent a long time teaching young people, I can confidently say that those folks were great coaches. They all had a deep professional skill set and were masters of motivation. And as we teachers know, pedagogy only thrives if there’s care and concern, and those incredible humans at Southern Hills displayed both from the beginning.
Speaking of the beginning, Renee went to rehab with a reputation. (Does anyone remember the difficult patient bit from Seinfeld?) They put Renee right next to the nurse station, which I suppose in teacher terms means “front row.” She was reputed to be impulsive, and they wanted to keep a close eye on her because before she lost the use of her right leg, she tended to get out of bed without calling for help. For instance, when she got instructions about a new therapy exercise, before the therapist could finish their sentence, Renee would get a head start. Perhaps it was something like this: “Okay, first you’re going to stand, and then -Renee stands- No, wait. I wasn’t finished telling you what to do.” Renee would say, “But you told me to stand!” That’s how it went for the three weeks we were there. She was relentless. After it was time to sleep, the nurses would hear Renee reciting some tricky word or phrase in her room. One of her favorites in speech therapy was “Eddie edited it.” Another was “Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear. Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair. Fuzzy Wuzzy wan’t fuzzy, was he?” She was a little taken aback by the impulsive label, and though Renee didn’t understand why she’d earned the badge, the girls and I agreed with the medical folks.
What can I say about our two girls, Katherine and Meredith? To say that it would have been even more difficult without their help and presence is a gross understatement. Whether running errands, taking Renee places when I was able to go to rehearsal, visiting her in hospital, making sure our Snapchat streaks stayed intact (lol. Yes, and Renee’s Wordle game remained strong too), or just all the silly laughs we shared as a family, having them around us through this time was an incredible experience.
I have to give shout-outs to my Siegel colleagues. Larry Creasy, Siegel’s Principal, was incredibly accommodating and flexible during that period, as was Kristie Collier, the school Administrative Assistant. Blake Ward, Brenda Gregory, and Gerald Patton, my music workmates at Siegel, took the reins, and we didn’t miss a beat (music joke). The band staff did some incredible work, and I’ll always appreciate Kyle Ramsay, Amanda Vogel, and Benjamin Smith for all their efforts. Andrew Miller was our student teacher (highly recommended), was thrown into the fire, and thrived under the circumstances. Nearly daily, our spirits were lifted by the encouraging words and prayers of band parents and students.
One thing has become apparent throughout this ordeal: Renee and I have incredible friends and family. From the jump, we were inundated with messages of support and love, hospital visits, restaurant gift cards, and even lawn-mowing. (Thank you, John Easley!) When I reached 50, I started reading books on aging, and one theme resonated and gave me a profound sense of gratitude: having a robust social circle is crucial to aging well. Yes, it seems obvious, but I’m pleased to put an emphatic A+ next to that line in our life report card. Thanks so much to all of you who have reached out with help and messages of support.
I probably should have retired sooner. Trying to take care of Renee AND teach high school band through last school year was too much, and I wasn’t good at either. Ron Swanson (a character from Parks and Recreation and one of my fictional heroes) advises against doing two things halfway. That’s wise advice. I wasn’t a very good teacher or caretaker during those months, and it wasn’t fair to the Siegel folks or Renee. But that’s all in hindsight now, and coulda/shoulda/woulda doesn’t help now except to provide a cautionary tale to others.
Renee and I try to be positive people and look for opportunities where we find adversity. In this case, we had more than enough adversity, so growth opportunities were plentiful. Perhaps the best thing about the stroke is that Renee, the girls, and I have spent an unbelievable amount of time together. Before, with careers and life goings-on, we saw each other when we could. But since last September, we’ve spent hours and hours laughing, crying, encouraging, and reminiscing. We’ve had to slow down, take our time, and appreciate what we have. It has been awesome, and here I mean to use awesome in a manner that means “full of awe,” rather than a meaningless throwaway manner.
Renee and I are both fascinated by people who have overcome seemingly insurmountable challenges. The stroke allowed us to see how we measure up and to put into practice what we’ve read and talked about. Renee spends a lot of time following other stroke victims’ social media platforms, resulting in an abundance of “if they can do it so can I.” Seeing her go through this thing is a wonder, as I get a front-row seat to watch grit, growth mindset, and gumption in action. Finally, I suppose any catastrophic event, though terrible, helps you hit the relationship reset button in a way. All the cobwebs that accumulate in a 30+ year relationship get swept away, and the little judgments and criticisms like “I don’t know why you bought another can of corn at Kroger!” don’t matter anymore. What’s left is a deep and robust sense of respect, admiration, and love.
Retirement Post #10: You never know
Early on in my first job, I got a new student named Reggie Grisham. Reggie had an incredible trumpet tone, one of the most even and natural sounds I’ve ever heard from a sophomore. I’d re-do the band setup every few weeks and move him around next to other players. Pretty soon, other kids started sounding like Reggie. I gave Reggie some after-school private lessons, and one day he mentioned something about trying to pay me. I declined and quipped, “Just get me tickets to a show when you get famous.” In December 2012, Reggie contacted me and said two tickets would be waiting for me at Will Call for The Who (yes, the one with Pete Townsend). The Who was in town, and Reggie was playing trumpet in the horn section. I was overcome. I was humbled that Reggie remembered my offhand remark. You never know when a little moment will come back to you.
This is my tenth and final retirement post, and after this, I’ll return to the Facebook shadows. But I’m going to preach about two topics that I’m passionate about: music and people.
Here’s what many folks miss, and it’s so obvious that I feel silly typing it: Rehearsal matters more than performance. Although performances of great literature are what people often remember, it’s the hours of daily work in rehearsal that lay the track for your program. So many band directors use the carrot approach to creating energy and vibes (using “vibes” is me trying to stay fresh) by promising trips and other extras, but they need to remember the math. The math says that 99% of the student experience is in rehearsal, so planning rehearsals is where we should spend the overwhelming amount of our time. (Here, my use of “99%” is a math-challenged retired band director trying to sound smart and impressive.) An average Tuesday rehearsal carries more weight than a Thursday night performance.
If the students are generally happy while rehearsing music, everything else takes care of itself. By “generally happy,” I don’t mean that rehearsals are full of skittle rivers, free candy, and false praise. I refer to rehearsals where students come face to face with musical experiences that enrich their lives, with pride in achievement, a feeling of ensemble cohesion, and aesthetic experiences. Recruiting new students, gathering parent volunteers, raising money, and all the other ancillary facets of a high school band program come easier if generally happy-in-rehearsal band students spread positivity about their experience.
Rehearsals should be a workshop where teachers and students craft great music by great composers. Rehearsals should be an environment where students realize the satisfaction of overcoming challenges as they “level up” as musicians. (I might’ve played too many video games in my life.) Rehearsals should be a place where students learn empathy and teamwork as members of a musical ensemble. Rehearsals should be a place of discovery, where students learn music that’s new to them, music that gets them out of their own silo.
No doubt, high school band directors have to spend time doing administrative tasks. Someone has to order the buses and make the schedules, yes. At specific points in the year, those items have to be prioritized. BUT. Generally, most of your time as a music educator should be spent researching music for your ensemble, studying scores, refining your methods, tuning your ears by listening to great music (I’d recommend a subscription to the Berlin Philharmonic’s Digital Concert Hall), and planning rehearsals that enrich the lives of your students.
Elon Musk says this about engineers: “Possibly the most common error of a smart engineer is to optimize a thing that should not exist.” I contend that band directors are guilty of similar mistakes. I’ve been in many bandrooms (my own included at times) where it’s evident that more time was spent optimizing the organization of “stuff” than optimizing rehearsals. It’s well-intended, and often, we look for the easy win of labeling keys or whatever to feel like we’ve done a good job. Checking off a to-do list item might give you more of a dopamine hit than studying how Sir Simon Rattle leads Berlin through the posthorn movement of Mahler 3, but well-labeled keys don’t enrich the student musical experience. Stephen Covey might say it comes down to knowing the difference between urgent and important. The bus list is urgent; Mahler is important. I am not saying to skip making the bus list, as not having a bus list and losing a student is a bad thing, most of the time. I am saying that you should be mindful of your time and ensure that for every urgent task you complete, you spend an appropriate amount of time on what’s important: rehearsing music. You never know how a student’s life might be changed because of a musical experience on an average Tuesday rehearsal.
The second item in my sermon is how we deal with people. Teaching high school band is incredibly draining on emotions. Similarly, being a member of a high school band, especially one that has high aspirations, is incredibly draining on students’ emotions. There’s a tendency to see the students in the band as one entity, as different parts of one organism. There’s truth in that at times. Often, it’s more like a mosaic, where each piece retains its identity while contributing to the whole. And sometimes, those pieces/students don’t quite fit, and they become disgruntled and perhaps even leave the program. That was always very painful for me. I saw it as a rejection and likely took it more personally than I should’ve. As I matured as a teacher, I tried to stay above the emotional fray and understand that students are like icebergs, that there’s more going on than what is visible, and that those unseen factors might be why the students didn’t fit at that time.
The easy solution is for the student to leave the program. BUT. Is that the best solution? Is that best for the student? Is that best for your program’s recruiting and advocacy? Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s also possible that if you give that student encouragement and space, they’ll come around and return to your program. Will it always work out like a Hallmark movie? Of course not. But I’d say that it’s worth taking the chance, that as leaders, we should be like the father in the prodigal son parable, welcoming back students with open arms. After all, students face many challenges and mature in different ways and timelines. (And they don’t have a fully developed pre-frontal cortex.) You never know how great a student can become if you give them time and space.
Please don’t read this and think that I’m making some bold claims of my own perfection. As a teacher, I was flawed and made lots and lots and lots of poor decisions along the way that hurt other people and myself, for that matter. Ultimately, I am so very grateful for my experience as a high school band director. I spent my time on the river working with some fantastic colleagues and parents, teaching the subject I love to some incredible students. Where could I find more splendid company?
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