Meet David

You are a music teacher who has been giving private piano lessons for fifteen years. You focus on what music teachers focus on: technique, hand position, practicing. Some of your students do well, some even becoming quite proficient. But most don’t really practice, make little progress, and seem resigned rather than enthused about their lessons. If a child needs a break or asks a question unrelated to learning the piano, you have to respond with “That's not what we're here for,” or “We don't have time.” Every time this happens you feel like a hypocrite and it ties you up in knots. The whole point of engaging in music is to feed the soul. Who is in a better position to help that happen than the music teacher? For all the people for whom lessons do not work, there has to be a better way. You are determined to find it.

You come up with a solution so simple and obvious, you can’t believe you haven’t thought of it (or heard of it) before: This will still be a private lesson—one student at a time—but you will create an environment that offers a variety of musical stimuli, let the students themselves decide what they want to do, and wait for their musical prompts to determine how you can be helpful. You embark on this groundbreaking adventure with a tingling heart, an open mind and high hopes. Fast forward a year to David, one of your students. He’s been coming to you once a week for six months. Those musical prompts you’ve been waiting for? Well …

David’s “typical” lesson is never typical. He might come in and go to an instrument or straight to the couch to update you on his week. He divides his time among several instruments: piano, guitar, bass guitar, autoharp, miscellaneous percussion. He spends no more than five minutes at a time with an instrument or activity, experiments on them with no clear intention, and has not indicated a preference. If you ask David whether he’d like help with a particular thing he often rejects or ignores your offer. Sometimes he asks you a question or invites you to participate in a duet, but much of the time, he does not seem to want your services at all. Yet if you walk away, he stops whatever he is doing. As you wait for his footsteps on the stairs, you feel excited but also apprehensive. Working with David is a funny combo of exhilarating, hilarious, and terrifying. You just never know.

Today David comes in, flops down on the couch, exclaims “I’m so tired!” and begins to share the details of a hike he went on over the weekend. After five minutes or so he pauses, and you think Okay, maybe he’s settled in and ready for some music. But no—he only wants to show you every mosquito bite he got on the hike. Finally he stands up and heads for the piano. Here it comes—the musical prompt I’ve been waiting for. He starts to play “Over the Rainbow,” which he began figuring out by ear last week. Maybe he’ll want to play a duet with me. Maybe he’ll have a question that will give me a chance to be of use. All he has to do is ask—his wish is my command. You sit silently, working yourself into the Zen state required to be ready for whatever David needs. Suddenly, he stops playing, turns and stares at you intently. You look at him with your best “Just say it and I’ll do it—I’m here for you, David!” expression. He takes a deep breath. “Have you seen Spiderman 3? DON’T SEE IT! WAY too gory for you. You would HATE it! There's this scene with this guy with a knife, and there's blood and...”

What would you do?