I’ve entertained a dozen different postings - all the way from the terribly exciting to the dreadfully melancholy.
However, one thing stood out: The recital.
I was invited to attend a music recital this evening of a past student. He would be playing the guitar, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” to be precise.
I snatched up my stack of journal entries to finish reading and commenting on as I moved into the building. The cold, biting, night air nipped around the room as I sat down and commenced reading.
Within’ a few minutes, the recital began. It was nearly at once that I found the music played by these children was nothing short of amazing. I felt myself become wrapped in the warm glow of the Christmas music they played, and the feeling one seems to associate with this wonderful holiday. A fire ignited in my chest as the first strains of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” filled the room. I found myself drawing in a breath as the feeling of magic wafted about me.
It surrounded me. Enveloped me. Consumed me.
I stopped correcting the entries and just listened and felt the music. When it came time for my student to take his place center stage, I couldn’t help but feel an immense sense of pride.
He sat and played with his teacher on his shiny, new guitar, and it reminded me of a moment in time space, when he asked me about learning to play – over a year ago now – after we’d finished a session of singing time in the classroom where I accompanied my students with the guitar.
I listened to him playing now and I felt a rushing sense that something I’d done along the way had helped him to arrive here at this place. It was the same feeling I’d had when I’d taught someone to become a better reader, when a student had mastered a difficult concept in Math, or when they had simply become a more active participant in their own learning.
Tonight I felt that.
As the recital ended, I recalled this boy’s and my time together when we practiced “Frosty the Snowman” for a literature response when he was just getting his musical wings about him.
It made me smile.
Before I left, I leaned over to this boy and told him how proud I was of him. Of how far he’d come, and how I wanted him to mention me when he was playing with some famous band or in a concert hall. He smiled and said, “Sure, Mr. Z.”
I left the recital and walked out to my car, thinking of another student who I just started teaching on the guitar. As the cold, wintery air blew about me, I smiled.
By the way, I also posted today over at Four Perspectives...just so you know.
First image source: Someplace I can't remember...