As a music teacher, I had several superpowers that I regularly demonstrated to my students.
One of them was getting them quiet without saying a word. That was something they rarely experienced and, on a subliminal level, they knew it was special. Another superpower I possessed was that I could play guitar without even thinking about it, as if the guitar was playing itself. I did it with a smile on my face and not a trace of effort.
They marveled at my superpowers at the piano, playing while not looking at my fingers and changing songs so quickly in so many ways that they thought it was a recording. The one superpower that always had their eyes glued on me was when I took my guitar out of its case, threw it into the air, caught it by the neck, and exclaimed, “It's time for music now!”
One of my most amazing superpowers was my ability to make them laugh. As in “fall-out-of-their-chairs” laugh. And often times, it was super-sized self-deprecating humor.
The greatest superpower was a magnetism that made kids want to participate, behave, try their best, and not give up. It was the strongest of all and synergized with all the other superpowers to maximum influence and effect.
Now, I know what you might be thinking. Sure, Holmes, you're working with little kids. They're amazed at anything. My counter to that argument is that the music teachers they encountered before me rarely had such a diversified and potent arsenal of superpowers. In many cases, their awe was well justified.
As with most superpowers, there is a back story, an “origin story”.
The foundation of all these superpowers was that I didn't want anything in return from my students except for them to succeed after they left our room. Yes, I had priorities about students singing in tune, playing instruments properly, and composing evermore complex, self-expressive music, but intrinsically, they knew which ideals were at the very top of my list. Paradoxically, they knew that those skills held no value for me but were priceless to them.
S.T.A.R.
From our first class in August till our last in June, I reinforced S.T.A.R. – otherwise known as STAR, on a daily basis.
S stands for “sit like you're smart” and “know when to start and stop”. T stands for “track the talker”. A stands for “ask and answer questions”. And the most important of all, R – “do respectable things and people will respect you”.
I know. My job title is “music teacher” and usually that means my job description comes with songs to teach, concerts to rehearsal, mallets that have to be held properly, piano hand positions to be reinforced, reading music notation, and performing competently in observations to inform my principal that I knew what I was doing.
These are all noble endeavors and I did all those and more – but S.T.A.R. was the source of a powerful magnet that drew kids to participate in music.
It’s part of my origin story as a teacher.
Let me take this opportunity to state for one and all that I am not the “best” or “greatest” at anything. I know many musicians far more talented than me. I’ve often joked that if I did a guitar master class with Christopher Parkening, the first question he would ask after I played would be, “So when did you suffer the traumatic brain injury?”
I know oodles of guitarists, bassists, pianists, composers, and vocalists who are better than me. But STAR has given me an edge, a superpower if you will, at times when I needed to be better than I was, to create a needed magnetism at key moments.
Take a minute. Think about STAR as it applies to musicians, teachers, and directors from your past.
Which musicians have you encountered in your career who epitomized those qualities? What were they like to make music with? What were they like as teachers, leaders, acquaintances, or friends?
Now look at the other side of the coin.
I know many musicians far more talented than me who never sat, stood, or paid attention like they were smart. It was more like they sat like they were brilliant, beyond smart, assuming a self-bestowed “rock star slouch”.
We’ve all known musicians and directors who couldn’t be bothered to give you any eye contact – they expect all the eyes to be on them. They are perpetually ready for their close-up – and you better not forget it.
While some teachers are great at asking questions, there are the ones whose questions perpetually have trace amounts of music assessment and privilege. Their inquisitions reek of “I know more than you”. They never ask, “What do you think?” Or “How did that sound to you?” Or “What’s shakin’?”
We have all endured musicians, music teachers, and directors who didn't have an ounce of humility, empathy, or patience in them and because of that lack of character, we didn't respect them. No matter what the gig paid, as we were packing up our equipment, we realized that their lack of respect meant the gig didn’t pay enough.
I wanted my students to grow into musicians – or anything else they wanted to be – that embraced these time-tested character traits.
We worked on some aspect of STAR in every class. I would occasionally ask my classes if they ever used STAR outside of our classroom and what happened when they used it. They were many stories. I even think some of them might have been true.
The stories worked. Kids tend to relate to the experiences of other kids more so than to what adults tell them. The result was that kids believed that STAR could create a power for them outside of the music room.
What I was teaching during my 7.5 hour day wasn't for my benefit or to make me richer or happier. It was to make the lives of my students happier and easier to navigate.
By emphasizing skills and archetypes that would bring nothing back to me, I created a selfless magnet that drew kids to what I taught. That magnetism is what we all want when dealing with large groups of people, whether you’re a music teacher, conductor, corporate executive, or coach.
We want our people to focus their energies on life skills that will grow with them and support whichever discipline they pursue in their lives.
Take Away Point: Find a way to be about service to your students and not about your ego.
The story goes that when Cicero spoke to soldiers in ancient Rome, men stood. When Demosthenes spoke, soldiers marched. Big difference.
If we emulate Cicero and teach from a place of ego, our brand will never increase and we will develop no magnetic response with our students. If we teach in a manner similar to Demosthenes that sublimates our ego and recognizes that we are in that music room to provide a service to young people, to make their lives better, to give them the skill set of superpowers to grow, then we will have empowered a magnetism that will positively influence thousands of students.
And that’s a superpower worthy of any student’s origin story.
One of them was getting them quiet without saying a word. That was something they rarely experienced and, on a subliminal level, they knew it was special. Another superpower I possessed was that I could play guitar without even thinking about it, as if the guitar was playing itself. I did it with a smile on my face and not a trace of effort.
They marveled at my superpowers at the piano, playing while not looking at my fingers and changing songs so quickly in so many ways that they thought it was a recording. The one superpower that always had their eyes glued on me was when I took my guitar out of its case, threw it into the air, caught it by the neck, and exclaimed, “It's time for music now!”
One of my most amazing superpowers was my ability to make them laugh. As in “fall-out-of-their-chairs” laugh. And often times, it was super-sized self-deprecating humor.
The greatest superpower was a magnetism that made kids want to participate, behave, try their best, and not give up. It was the strongest of all and synergized with all the other superpowers to maximum influence and effect.
Now, I know what you might be thinking. Sure, Holmes, you're working with little kids. They're amazed at anything. My counter to that argument is that the music teachers they encountered before me rarely had such a diversified and potent arsenal of superpowers. In many cases, their awe was well justified.
As with most superpowers, there is a back story, an “origin story”.
The foundation of all these superpowers was that I didn't want anything in return from my students except for them to succeed after they left our room. Yes, I had priorities about students singing in tune, playing instruments properly, and composing evermore complex, self-expressive music, but intrinsically, they knew which ideals were at the very top of my list. Paradoxically, they knew that those skills held no value for me but were priceless to them.
S.T.A.R.
From our first class in August till our last in June, I reinforced S.T.A.R. – otherwise known as STAR, on a daily basis.
S stands for “sit like you're smart” and “know when to start and stop”. T stands for “track the talker”. A stands for “ask and answer questions”. And the most important of all, R – “do respectable things and people will respect you”.
I know. My job title is “music teacher” and usually that means my job description comes with songs to teach, concerts to rehearsal, mallets that have to be held properly, piano hand positions to be reinforced, reading music notation, and performing competently in observations to inform my principal that I knew what I was doing.
These are all noble endeavors and I did all those and more – but S.T.A.R. was the source of a powerful magnet that drew kids to participate in music.
It’s part of my origin story as a teacher.
Let me take this opportunity to state for one and all that I am not the “best” or “greatest” at anything. I know many musicians far more talented than me. I’ve often joked that if I did a guitar master class with Christopher Parkening, the first question he would ask after I played would be, “So when did you suffer the traumatic brain injury?”
I know oodles of guitarists, bassists, pianists, composers, and vocalists who are better than me. But STAR has given me an edge, a superpower if you will, at times when I needed to be better than I was, to create a needed magnetism at key moments.
Take a minute. Think about STAR as it applies to musicians, teachers, and directors from your past.
Which musicians have you encountered in your career who epitomized those qualities? What were they like to make music with? What were they like as teachers, leaders, acquaintances, or friends?
Now look at the other side of the coin.
I know many musicians far more talented than me who never sat, stood, or paid attention like they were smart. It was more like they sat like they were brilliant, beyond smart, assuming a self-bestowed “rock star slouch”.
We’ve all known musicians and directors who couldn’t be bothered to give you any eye contact – they expect all the eyes to be on them. They are perpetually ready for their close-up – and you better not forget it.
While some teachers are great at asking questions, there are the ones whose questions perpetually have trace amounts of music assessment and privilege. Their inquisitions reek of “I know more than you”. They never ask, “What do you think?” Or “How did that sound to you?” Or “What’s shakin’?”
We have all endured musicians, music teachers, and directors who didn't have an ounce of humility, empathy, or patience in them and because of that lack of character, we didn't respect them. No matter what the gig paid, as we were packing up our equipment, we realized that their lack of respect meant the gig didn’t pay enough.
I wanted my students to grow into musicians – or anything else they wanted to be – that embraced these time-tested character traits.
We worked on some aspect of STAR in every class. I would occasionally ask my classes if they ever used STAR outside of our classroom and what happened when they used it. They were many stories. I even think some of them might have been true.
The stories worked. Kids tend to relate to the experiences of other kids more so than to what adults tell them. The result was that kids believed that STAR could create a power for them outside of the music room.
What I was teaching during my 7.5 hour day wasn't for my benefit or to make me richer or happier. It was to make the lives of my students happier and easier to navigate.
By emphasizing skills and archetypes that would bring nothing back to me, I created a selfless magnet that drew kids to what I taught. That magnetism is what we all want when dealing with large groups of people, whether you’re a music teacher, conductor, corporate executive, or coach.
We want our people to focus their energies on life skills that will grow with them and support whichever discipline they pursue in their lives.
Take Away Point: Find a way to be about service to your students and not about your ego.
The story goes that when Cicero spoke to soldiers in ancient Rome, men stood. When Demosthenes spoke, soldiers marched. Big difference.
If we emulate Cicero and teach from a place of ego, our brand will never increase and we will develop no magnetic response with our students. If we teach in a manner similar to Demosthenes that sublimates our ego and recognizes that we are in that music room to provide a service to young people, to make their lives better, to give them the skill set of superpowers to grow, then we will have empowered a magnetism that will positively influence thousands of students.
And that’s a superpower worthy of any student’s origin story.
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