Beautiful essay

[Bonnie]

On a little nostalgia trip this morning I stumbled on this essay, written by Eric Nagler (who people my age, and their parents, might remember from The Elephant Show - you know, "skinnamarinkidink, I love you"). I found it very relevant to unschooling, so I wanted to share.

From here: http://www.ericnagler.com/Eric_story.htm

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"When I was Little" by Eric Nagler

When I was very little I would bang on the piano. My mother would say, "Eric please. That is a delicate instrument." My father would say, "Stop that Racket!"

So I would wait until my parents went to work and then I would bang on the piano. My grandmother would say, "Eric, play `The Tennessee Waltz'. It's my favourite song." I would bang a little slower. "That's beautiful," my grandmother would say.

When I got a little older I would ask my grandmother to hum it so I could pick out the notes, and soon I actually learned the melody of `The Tennessee Waltz'.

One day my mother heard me. "Eric, you have a natural talent," she said. "That boy needs lessons," said my father. "Someday he'll thank me."

I didn't want lessons. My friend Glenna took lessons and had to stay in while the rest of us were playing on the street . "Just take lessons for three months," said my mother, and then if you don't like them you can stop."

So I took lessons for three months. The teacher would play the song and show me the notes, which I wouldn't read. Instead I learned by listening to the teacher play, the way I used to listen to my grandmother.

"Don't look at your hands," the teacher would say. "Look at the notes." So I learned to play the songs without looking at my hands but I wasn't reading. After a while the music got too long for me to remember by ear, but I still couldn't read the notes, so things got very difficult. Luckily, three months was up and I quit.

"I didn't think you'd remember about the three months." said my mother. "I counted the days," I said.

When I got older I met a boy who played the saxophone. He showed me how to play `The Tennessee Waltz'. That Evening at dinner I asked for a saxophone. My parents looked at each other, then at me. My mother said, "The saxophone is not a valid instrument." My father said,

"Learn the clarinet instead. Someday you'll thank me."

The next day my father brought home a clarinet, and my mother brought home a teacher from the symphony orchestra. "Read the notes," said the teacher. "That note is flat. Bite harder. That note is sharp. Bite softer." I did not like to read notes. I did not like to bite harder and softer, and I did not like Brahms. I quit.

When I got older I was at a party and somebody played a Charlie Mingus record. I fell in love with the bass. The next evening I asked for a bass. "I want to play `The Haitian Fight Song' like Charlie Mingus," I said. My father and mother looked at each other, and then at me. "The bass is very limiting," said my mother. "The notes are all too low."

"Take up the cello,"said my father. "Someday you'll thank me."

The next day after school I didn't go home right away. I sat by myself for a while in some bushes in a vacant lot around the block. I got home late for dinner and there was a cello standing in the corner of the dining room which my father had borrowed from his school. But since they were angry at me for being late they forgot to talk about the cello, and the next day my father took it back to school.

One day when I was 14 I was up in my room, supposedly doing my homework. I heard a strange sound coming from the living room. I threw down my comic book and ran downstairs. It was a friend of my older brother playing the banjo. The moment I heard it my heart opened up and the banjo music jumped right inside. That night at dinner I didn't say anything.

The next day I got an old broken-down banjo from my brother's friend. Then I got on my bike and visited my grandmother, who gave me $20 to help buy a banjo skin and some strings. I used a wooden Venetian blind slat for a fingerboard, and some screws to fix the pegs. Every day I would come home from school and play the banjo.

When my mother would come home from work she would say, "I've had a very difficult day, dear." My father would say, "Stop that racket."

I would retreat to my room and play as quietly as I could, but banjoes are loud. My parents would yell at me from downstairs. "Stop that racket." I would go up to the furthest room in the attic, stuff an old pair of socks in my banjo, and play for hours.

Eventually my parents finished the basement in knotty pine, moved the old sofa and T.V. down there, and for three years while I learned the banjo there was a sort of no-man's-land on the first and second floor of the house. Occasionally I would meet my parents on the stairs and they would ask me how my school work was coming. "Fine," I would say.

But my school work was not exactly fine. My heart was too filled with banjo music for me to concentrate very well on biology. And even though I promised my parents I would try, I never did become a doctor. Instead, when I grew up I became a banjo player and made many people happy. My parents were very proud.

"That's my boy!" said my father.

"I always said he had a natural talent," said my mother.

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[Jude Murphy]

Oh, I love this! My daughter's a really dedicated recorder player and if I had a penny for every time she's been told (or it's been implied) that it's not a valid instrument, well, we'd be rich. Vive la difference! :)

[Idzie]

Wow, that is most definitely beautiful! Thanks for sharing it. :-)

[Melissa Cappella]

This is so great. It's so like how just about everyone approaches everything. I hope we all can overcome like the author did.

Our story: My son was playing with his counting bank. Having hours of fun adding coins to count up over a hundred, then dumping them out and adding them again to get to over 200, etc. He loved it. He called the number that displayed a percent (the intention is that it is dollars, of course, but no matter, we was learning the different coins and what they were "worth" and setting a goal (to get to the next 100) and counting patiently up to that goal).

My mother and her friend came over and Ryan showed them his bank and said "Look! I have 150 percent!". My mom's friend said, "that's not percent, that's dollars." He paused, but quitely added several more coins and said "now I have 200 percent!". To which the friend said, insistently, "that's not percent, that's dollars! See - that's a dollar sign!" Ryan paused again, longer this time. But since he loved this game (and didn't know this friend well - maybe she didn't know what she was talking about) he kept going.

He dumped out the coins and then started putting them in the bank, counting up from where he left off (his favorite part of the game). My mother shrieked "you can't do that!!!" as if there was some horrible fate that would befall him if he "cheated" this toy bank.

I was horrified. I said to them - "stop!!!" but too late. He has never played with the counting bank toy that gave him so much pleasure since the day the grown ups ruined the fun.

[Linda Hessel]

The last lines make me angry and sad. But a great story.

Melissa, I have a similar story -- my son was amazing at puzzles when he was little, and he had so much fun doing them. My FIL came over one day and proceeded to teach him the "right" way to do a puzzle, and insisted that he do it that way. My son immediately started struggling and I could see his spirit deflate right before my eyes. He never did a puzzle again.

It was heart-breaking, and I am angry about it to this day.

[Heather (in NY)]

That is awesome that he managed to persist despite his parents, though that is very sad that he was not supported.

My son has played the bass - upright acoustic and electric - for several years, and it has been quite the opposite of limiting. Because there are not huge numbers of young bassists (as there are pianists, violinists, cellists, and horn players), he has had many many opportunities to play with all kinds of groups from orchestras to rock bands. It has been a really wonderful thing for him and for us to listen to! I have learned so much about music in the process as well.

[Jean Dorsey]

My FIL actually told my DD she was doing a Mr. Potato Head wrong! Thankfully, I was right there so I made a little response and that was that.
WTF?

Linda Hessel said:

The last lines make me angry and sad. But a great story.

Melissa, I have a similar story -- my son was amazing at puzzles when he was little, and he had so much fun doing them. My FIL came over one day and proceeded to teach him the "right" way to do a puzzle, and insisted that he do it that way. My son immediately started struggling and I could see his spirit deflate right before my eyes. He never did a puzzle again.

It was heart-breaking, and I am angry about it to this day.