My kids can’t tell the difference between me and Mr. A. Okay, perhaps this is an over-generalization, but at least 7-12 times a day, I am Mr. A to a young Deltan. My own individual teacher-person identity gets entirely erased and is replaced with, “white-guy who teaches here” I remember that Amanda (and doesn’t teach here so I can guiltlessly use her real name!), who has just had her sternum broken in a car-crash, told me of a friend at Carleton who wrote her thesis on our ability to distinguish individual physical characteristics in races we have not been exposed to on a daily basis during our formative years. ESM’s subscription to JSTOR would be coming in handy………now. This sort of previously unpredictable daily oddity, along with a dozen other priceless tableaus, is why I want to start this whole Blogerific thing. A blog is entirely not my style, and it makes me more than a little bit paranoid that my closely-guarded internal monologue will become part of the public domain. On the other hand, my memory has been wrecked for more than a while now, and if I don’t take a moment to write these things down they’ll be lost forever, subsumed into a generalized, vague nostalgia in the years to come. This is something I’d like to avoid, so Mr. Z becomes a blogger. Why even bother initialing my name? Is there anybody else in the Delta who also had the last cubby, stood last in line every day during their own stint at Elementary School, and took the last picture on school picture day every year? Oh the pleasures of an odd surname.
I teach Strings to my 4th and 5th graders and what I like to call “Performance Readiness” to my K-3rd Grade students. Most of my children at the 3rd grade level and below are at a pre-school level of musical readiness. Tonal music is an entirely new thing to them, and the 45 minutes a week that they spend with me is poor compensation for a young lifetime spent in a state of musical neglect.