Sometimes, being a music teacher has very little to do with notes and rests and everything to do with everything else – like building relationships.
It was 3:12 at my elementary school. Dismissal had just started and I was headed out of the music room into the bustling hallway to bus duty.
I don't know if you've ever observed the end-of-the-day dismissal at a 700+ student elementary school. It is a major operational, all-hands-on-deck component of each and every school day.
In the hands of a good administrator, the dismissal plan can make a well-oil machine look rusty. The goal is for all of the children to start walking out the doors of their rooms at different times over the span of three minutes and create a flow of students out of the building.
It sounds a lot easier than it is to accomplish.
My school’s dismissal plan was a cross between Balanchine’s “Swan Lake” and Eisenhower's Normandy invasion.
So it came to be that this day at 3:12 that the principal's voice came the school speaker system.
“Mr Holmes, immediately report to the B hallway!”
As I started walking to the B hallway, I felt more and more like an out-of-place salmon trying to swim upstream in the Monongahela River. The halls were flooded with kids going in the opposite direction.
By the time I approached the B hallway, kids were running past me.
As I turn the corner and walk down the B hall, I saw the principal at the end of the desolate hallway, standing outside a classroom door.
Walking up to her I realized how quiet the school had become.
“What's up?”, I asked.
“I need you to go in that room. The teacher told me that there's a kid in there who apparently asked one of his classmates at dismissal if he wanted to see a gun that was in his backpack."
Going full-on sotto voce, she said, "You need to go in and check his backpack and tell me if there’s a gun in it. We’ve emptied the hallway and are going to evacuate the building depending what you find.”
At this point, because I have an over-active smart-ass chromosome floating around in my genome, I started thinking of all the possible snappy comebacks.
”Why don't you want to go in there? Why waste a good administrator should there be a problem, right?” or “Lucky for me, I wore my bullet-proof three-piece black suit today.”
“Is he angry?” I inquired as I peered through the window in the door.
“That's a good question.”, she said over her shoulder as she ran down the hallway away from the classroom.
I entered the room.
There was one second grader with a forlorn look on his face sitting at his desk.
He was a good kid who loved music class.
I asked him to come up with his backpack and sit with me on the rug where they do circle time.
Pointing at his bag, I started with, “So I hear you have something special in your bag there. What is it?”
“Am I going to get in trouble?”
“That all depends. What's in the bag? Did you bring something from home that's in your bag?”
The boy started whimpering.
“Mommy said I wasn't allowed to bring it to school but I did and I'm sorry. Am I in trouble?”
“Well, let's just check out what's in that bag. Unzip it for me, please.”
I looked in and along with his take-home folder and some Pokémon cards, there was a baggie filled with “Double Bubble” bubble gum.
“What did you tell that your classmate that you had in your bag? Did you say you wanted to show him a gun that was in your bag?”
The kid looked at me like I was speaking in a foreign language.
“No, I said I had gum. I wanted to show him my GUM. Mommy told me I wasn't allowed to bring my gum to school but I did and I wanted to show him. Am I in trouble?”
“Nah, you’re okay,” I said reassuringly.
“You're not in trouble with me or with anyone else here at school. Mommy might be a different story."
He didn't look convinced.
"Tell you what. When we tell Mommy that you brought the gum to school, I'm going to tell her that you're one of my best musicians in music class so that might make her a little less ticked off.”
As his fear was began to fade, so did my avuncular smile.
“If mommy says don't bring something to school, you leave it at home next time.”
We were up and moving to the door. I could see the principal peeking in the window.
I turned back to the boy and whispered to him.
“But for now, you know what your teachers always say: sharing is caring. How about you share a piece of that “Double Bubble” with Mr Holmes?” which he gladly did.
I popped it in my mouth and loudly said “Let's hurry up, I think they're holding your bus for you.”
As the boy and I walked out of the room, the principal looked expectantly at me, and quietly asked, "Well?".
I turned to her and replied, “He didn't say he had a gun in his bag . . . . .”
At that point I blew a big bubble and popped it – which made the kid giggle.
“He said he had gum.”
Like I said, sometimes, being a music teacher has very little to do with notes and rests and everything to do with everything else – like asking the right questions and bubble gum blowing technique.
It was 3:12 at my elementary school. Dismissal had just started and I was headed out of the music room into the bustling hallway to bus duty.
I don't know if you've ever observed the end-of-the-day dismissal at a 700+ student elementary school. It is a major operational, all-hands-on-deck component of each and every school day.
In the hands of a good administrator, the dismissal plan can make a well-oil machine look rusty. The goal is for all of the children to start walking out the doors of their rooms at different times over the span of three minutes and create a flow of students out of the building.
It sounds a lot easier than it is to accomplish.
My school’s dismissal plan was a cross between Balanchine’s “Swan Lake” and Eisenhower's Normandy invasion.
So it came to be that this day at 3:12 that the principal's voice came the school speaker system.
“Mr Holmes, immediately report to the B hallway!”
As I started walking to the B hallway, I felt more and more like an out-of-place salmon trying to swim upstream in the Monongahela River. The halls were flooded with kids going in the opposite direction.
By the time I approached the B hallway, kids were running past me.
As I turn the corner and walk down the B hall, I saw the principal at the end of the desolate hallway, standing outside a classroom door.
Walking up to her I realized how quiet the school had become.
“What's up?”, I asked.
“I need you to go in that room. The teacher told me that there's a kid in there who apparently asked one of his classmates at dismissal if he wanted to see a gun that was in his backpack."
Going full-on sotto voce, she said, "You need to go in and check his backpack and tell me if there’s a gun in it. We’ve emptied the hallway and are going to evacuate the building depending what you find.”
At this point, because I have an over-active smart-ass chromosome floating around in my genome, I started thinking of all the possible snappy comebacks.
”Why don't you want to go in there? Why waste a good administrator should there be a problem, right?” or “Lucky for me, I wore my bullet-proof three-piece black suit today.”
“Is he angry?” I inquired as I peered through the window in the door.
“That's a good question.”, she said over her shoulder as she ran down the hallway away from the classroom.
I entered the room.
There was one second grader with a forlorn look on his face sitting at his desk.
He was a good kid who loved music class.
I asked him to come up with his backpack and sit with me on the rug where they do circle time.
Pointing at his bag, I started with, “So I hear you have something special in your bag there. What is it?”
“Am I going to get in trouble?”
“That all depends. What's in the bag? Did you bring something from home that's in your bag?”
The boy started whimpering.
“Mommy said I wasn't allowed to bring it to school but I did and I'm sorry. Am I in trouble?”
“Well, let's just check out what's in that bag. Unzip it for me, please.”
I looked in and along with his take-home folder and some Pokémon cards, there was a baggie filled with “Double Bubble” bubble gum.
“What did you tell that your classmate that you had in your bag? Did you say you wanted to show him a gun that was in your bag?”
The kid looked at me like I was speaking in a foreign language.
“No, I said I had gum. I wanted to show him my GUM. Mommy told me I wasn't allowed to bring my gum to school but I did and I wanted to show him. Am I in trouble?”
“Nah, you’re okay,” I said reassuringly.
“You're not in trouble with me or with anyone else here at school. Mommy might be a different story."
He didn't look convinced.
"Tell you what. When we tell Mommy that you brought the gum to school, I'm going to tell her that you're one of my best musicians in music class so that might make her a little less ticked off.”
As his fear was began to fade, so did my avuncular smile.
“If mommy says don't bring something to school, you leave it at home next time.”
We were up and moving to the door. I could see the principal peeking in the window.
I turned back to the boy and whispered to him.
“But for now, you know what your teachers always say: sharing is caring. How about you share a piece of that “Double Bubble” with Mr Holmes?” which he gladly did.
I popped it in my mouth and loudly said “Let's hurry up, I think they're holding your bus for you.”
As the boy and I walked out of the room, the principal looked expectantly at me, and quietly asked, "Well?".
I turned to her and replied, “He didn't say he had a gun in his bag . . . . .”
At that point I blew a big bubble and popped it – which made the kid giggle.
“He said he had gum.”
Like I said, sometimes, being a music teacher has very little to do with notes and rests and everything to do with everything else – like asking the right questions and bubble gum blowing technique.
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