Big Blue Eyes and a Heart of Gold

I think about you. . . 
Eight years old
Big blue eyes and a heart of gold
When I look at this world
I think about you. . . 

The words of this top 40 country song are echoing through my head.
I'm so frustrated.
Mary has her Suzuki Piano Book Two Graduation Recital in two weeks.
We can't get through the pieces.
She's had each of them ready for a recital. We have done 100 perfects of Melody and it's just not there.  The cats can play it. . . they've heard it so many times. We have listened to Book Two until the notes are stuck in the ventilation system of the house.
Terrible words pop into my head while we are practicing. I don't say them.
I think what a loser I must be, that I can't get my own child to keep up with the review and play the pieces lovely. I worry what the studio will think when she plays her songs with a hand position I'm embarrassed of. It won't help to postpone. It will just keep going this way. . . playing the pieces everyday and having something else go wrong. The eggs are falling out of the basket.

Dr. Suzuki asks us always to reflect. It's never the child. It's always the teacher and the parent. Double trouble for me. How to set aside my ego and my control. My pride. How to figure what is best for Mary.  Mary.  Mary.

She loves to play. She loves to learn new songs.  She's got music in her bones.  Just not in her fingers at the moment.  I was talking to parents in the studio and saying how she's been playing some of these songs for 18 months or more.  The dad commented that she's probably bored.  Yes.  But I want her to rise above and polish them anyway.  He said something wise. . . she just might not be able to.

I'm thinking about what I was interested in when I was eight.  I wasn't too focused about anything in particular.  I took piano and practiced my 30 minutes a day after school. I took dance and gymnastics, showing up once a week. I played soft ball and basketball, very poorly. My face and knees were dirty most of the time.

There are students who come along whom I don't expect to play a big graduation recital.  I can see from a distance that this is not what is best for that child. For her progress. For his love of music.  For her relationship with her mother. . .

Why shouldn't I see that we may have come to that point, and you didn't hear this from me. . . where the review is no longer a positive thing.  We are not making progress here.  The focus is gone.  It's time to move on.

So, what now?  Cancel the recital? No. She is old enough to have that damage her spirit.  And. . . she's really looking forward to it. The cake. The dress. The going to get her ears pierced afterwards.

After a little more reflection, I know what I'm going to do.  I talked to her last night.  We are going to make a CD of her 10 pieces.  Then I will know when I press record, whether we are talking about focus or ability.  I believe we can get a good recording of each piece, one at a time.  She wants to put Flopsy's picture on the cover. She can give a copy to her guests at the recital.  My tender ego will be assuaged.  There it is. . . she can play it.  It's in print.  But. . day of. . . she can wear the dress SHE wants to wear and I'll buy the cake SHE wants to eat and I will live out the words I say at every graduation recital:  this is not a test. . .this is not an examination. . . this is a celebration of the progress of the child.  And we will celebrate!  Extra notes and all.

First for the love of the child. . . second for the love of music.  I don't see for the perfectionism of the mother anywhere on the list.

I love you Mary.