I'm partially the product of twelve years of catholic education.
During those twelve years, I was exposed to some incredible teachers and role models. I was also exposed to nuns who horse whipped me as they said “in the name of Jesus Christ”. I dodged a few priests who thought I looked cute in my altar boy outfit and would have been more than happy to corner me alone in the sacristy.
Through it all, I never saw any authority figure but one stand up against the insidious things I experienced. Maybe they stood up for me behind closed doors and fought my battles, but I saw nothing in real time in front of me.
The one thing, though, that all these educators had in common was they all wanted me to sell chocolate candy bars.
Every year. For twelve years.
I was introduced to the CBC (candy bar cult) in first grade when Sister Elizabeth Mary brought in “Uncle Bob” who showed us how we would all get a box of twenty candy bars that we would have to sell to our family, friends, and neighbors. We would then bring the money back to Sister Elizabeth Mary at which time we would celebrate with a coloring paper of – wait for it - a coloring paper of a picture of a kid selling chocolate candy bars!
By the time I hit high school, it was high stakes. The class that sold the most candy bars got a day off and the homeroom within the school that sold the most candy bars would receive an additional day off. The one kid who sold the most got an additional day off. Usually that kid’s father was a DART bus driver hitting up his passengers for a bar or two.
Even as a kid, I thought it was disconcerting that I was selling candy bars and raising money for people who I knew, for a fact, had taken a vow of poverty. I mean, they wanted to be poor. What's up with that? I wanted to be rich. Not poor. Let them sell their own damn bars I muttered on my way home from school.
Despite my history of selling candy bars, being whipped into submission by nuns, and sexually approached by clergy, who would have thought that I would gravitate to the field of education.
Once I was on the other side of the teacher’s desk, I quickly learned that schools, be they private or public, were businesses and budgets were often lean and mean.
You always knew a lot of money would be thrown at athletics, the greatest educational PR machine ever invented. Next recipient of bucks, often times were stage productions, marching bands, and of course the dynamic duo of bricks and mortar.
As far as general music teachers go, though, I never saw a lot of coin come my way. Which didn't make sense because as my personal brand was bourgeoning outside of school and finding some positive traction that flowed back to the school, I didn't feel any love in the budget flowing back into our music program. The exception to this rule was Leach School where both principals I worked under, Dr. Connie Ames and Jack Jadach, proved to be two of the most enlightened, generous, humanistic individuals I ever had the honor of working with in a school.
I often look at my career as if it were designed in sonata-allegro form. After I was transferred by administration from the Leach School back into a general music classroom, I knew I was approaching my career’s “recapitulation” and, before I blinked, it would probably be my “coda”. I wanted to go out strong and I knew what I needed to do.
I had a thriving choral program in all the schools where I taught. I needed to take the next step. And it was a big one.
I went to my principles and my department head and made a strong pitch for a ten-year program of purchasing pianos and keyboards for our elementary school.
They said no. I pitched again. This time I got a resounding no.
Then I went for, “How just about one of each?” Their wry response was, “Why don't you go to Colonial Education Foundation?” which was a charity organization set up to fund teacher grants.
I have a level of pride that neither seeks nor accepts charity, especially given that I had 16.5 hours every work day when I could earn additional money. When my father was short on cash, he would take an extra shift on a weekend, sometimes driving to New Jersey to do an all-nighter at an AM radio station. That's how he taught me how to earn money, to buy things.
It wasn’t going to be “Go Fund Me”. Or sell a chocolate bar.
It would be “Go Fund Myself”.
I was more resolute than ever that my students would play piano and guitar.
I needed a plan. I’ll share that in Part Two.
During those twelve years, I was exposed to some incredible teachers and role models. I was also exposed to nuns who horse whipped me as they said “in the name of Jesus Christ”. I dodged a few priests who thought I looked cute in my altar boy outfit and would have been more than happy to corner me alone in the sacristy.
Through it all, I never saw any authority figure but one stand up against the insidious things I experienced. Maybe they stood up for me behind closed doors and fought my battles, but I saw nothing in real time in front of me.
The one thing, though, that all these educators had in common was they all wanted me to sell chocolate candy bars.
Every year. For twelve years.
I was introduced to the CBC (candy bar cult) in first grade when Sister Elizabeth Mary brought in “Uncle Bob” who showed us how we would all get a box of twenty candy bars that we would have to sell to our family, friends, and neighbors. We would then bring the money back to Sister Elizabeth Mary at which time we would celebrate with a coloring paper of – wait for it - a coloring paper of a picture of a kid selling chocolate candy bars!
By the time I hit high school, it was high stakes. The class that sold the most candy bars got a day off and the homeroom within the school that sold the most candy bars would receive an additional day off. The one kid who sold the most got an additional day off. Usually that kid’s father was a DART bus driver hitting up his passengers for a bar or two.
Even as a kid, I thought it was disconcerting that I was selling candy bars and raising money for people who I knew, for a fact, had taken a vow of poverty. I mean, they wanted to be poor. What's up with that? I wanted to be rich. Not poor. Let them sell their own damn bars I muttered on my way home from school.
Despite my history of selling candy bars, being whipped into submission by nuns, and sexually approached by clergy, who would have thought that I would gravitate to the field of education.
Once I was on the other side of the teacher’s desk, I quickly learned that schools, be they private or public, were businesses and budgets were often lean and mean.
You always knew a lot of money would be thrown at athletics, the greatest educational PR machine ever invented. Next recipient of bucks, often times were stage productions, marching bands, and of course the dynamic duo of bricks and mortar.
As far as general music teachers go, though, I never saw a lot of coin come my way. Which didn't make sense because as my personal brand was bourgeoning outside of school and finding some positive traction that flowed back to the school, I didn't feel any love in the budget flowing back into our music program. The exception to this rule was Leach School where both principals I worked under, Dr. Connie Ames and Jack Jadach, proved to be two of the most enlightened, generous, humanistic individuals I ever had the honor of working with in a school.
I often look at my career as if it were designed in sonata-allegro form. After I was transferred by administration from the Leach School back into a general music classroom, I knew I was approaching my career’s “recapitulation” and, before I blinked, it would probably be my “coda”. I wanted to go out strong and I knew what I needed to do.
I had a thriving choral program in all the schools where I taught. I needed to take the next step. And it was a big one.
I went to my principles and my department head and made a strong pitch for a ten-year program of purchasing pianos and keyboards for our elementary school.
They said no. I pitched again. This time I got a resounding no.
Then I went for, “How just about one of each?” Their wry response was, “Why don't you go to Colonial Education Foundation?” which was a charity organization set up to fund teacher grants.
I have a level of pride that neither seeks nor accepts charity, especially given that I had 16.5 hours every work day when I could earn additional money. When my father was short on cash, he would take an extra shift on a weekend, sometimes driving to New Jersey to do an all-nighter at an AM radio station. That's how he taught me how to earn money, to buy things.
It wasn’t going to be “Go Fund Me”. Or sell a chocolate bar.
It would be “Go Fund Myself”.
I was more resolute than ever that my students would play piano and guitar.
I needed a plan. I’ll share that in Part Two.
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