I realise I am late to the party, but I have recently joined the legions that have become somewhat obsessed with Hamilton. Aside from using some of the songs in my lessons (a resource will be coming soon to the MT online collection) and with my choir, a number of side effects have been noted. The songs are so darned catchy that the earworms have, at times, kept me awake. I have begun to think in Hamilton lyrics. I have a sizeable crush on Lin-Manuel Miranda. And, like Alexander Hamilton, I have been thinking a lot about legacy. Who tells your story?
We all know that music can transform the lives of our students. This is the best-case scenario: that we help young people discover the wonders of music, and it becomes something that brings meaning to their lives. We have also heard the disaster stories: people who have been put off music, usually by someone who once told them that they couldn't sing. We do not make the life-and-death decisions each day that a surgeon does. But what we do in our lessons can affect the way that our students feel about themselves, and about the way that they relate to music. This is our legacy, and it is a weighty responsibility.
However, the correlation between what we teach and the effect it has on our students is sometimes a loose one. The causal link between teaching and learning is sometimes eroded to the point where the very best intentions on the part of the teacher lead to an impact of pretty much naff all. Great teaching really does not always lead to great learning, or even any great buy-in from students. These are some of the most difficult moments that we face: when our best efforts come to naught.
Teaching in a ‘nice’ school does not preclude anyone from this frustration. My school is in a leafy suburb, and we have good resources and mostly supportive parents. We make every effort to teach practical, engaging lessons that enable students of all abilities to make progress. Yet still I dread teaching class 8XB each Friday.
In this particular class there is a critical mass of students who are at that point in adolescence where they are pushing all the boundaries. They show no appreciation for the fact that we are doing some really interesting practical work in our lessons, and do everything they can think of to sabotage my plans. Dealing with this involves every strategy I have in my toolbox, and by the end of the lesson I can feel that my cortisol levels are into the red. They make me feel like a really bad teacher.
Some Fridays I wonder at what point I became this terrible teacher. Last week, only 20 minutes before the start of 8XB's lesson, I was talking to Alana in Year 10, who told me how much she was enjoying learning about music theory in our GCSE lessons. She described how she was beginning to make links in her mind between the circle of fifths, cadences and keys, and how she was noticing these features in the pieces she is playing. This was extremely heartening, and gave me a warm glow of satisfaction that my teaching was having a positive effect.
Yet within half an hour my legacy had crumbled from gold-plated to dust, as my beautiful plans for 8XB crashed and burned. If Nathan from 8XB were to tell my story, it would be very different from Alana's. This is the sort of thing that drives teachers to look for easier ways to make a living. It is also the reason why any sane teacher should never look at ratemyteacher.com.
One of the most useful pieces of information I have ever discovered is that the pre-frontal cortex – the part of the brain that says ‘don't do that’ – is not fully developed until a person reaches their 20s. Secondary-age children simply do not have the wherewithal always to do what is right or acceptable. This is not an excuse for poor behaviour, but it does provide solace for the disheartened teacher that it is not personal, or even about the content of your lesson. They are being destructive because they are pushing against authority, and the teacher is simply the person who is telling them what to do. They don't like that you are on their case.
This information has enabled me to acknowledge the limited extent to which my legacy as a teacher can ever be assured. You really can't please all of the people all of the time.
It is important to focus on the positives. We can't pretend that things are always peachy, and creating a legacy is a scatter-gun affair: sometimes you will miss. But I am not throwing away my shot.
