Walter Bitner

Why you shouldn’t always tell your students the truth

For more than half of my teaching career, I taught music & performing arts at elementary or K-8 schools – six of these schools in all, with a wide range of approaches to education between them. One common aspect among all my experiences at these schools, however, is that I spent the majority of my time at each school – thousands upon thousands of hours of my life – as the only adult in the room, in front of a group of children. We spent most of our time together singing or playing music, dancing, rehearsing plays, or working on developing our skills to do these things, but over the years we had a lot of interesting and sometimes amazing conversations – both on and off topic.

Early in my career I began to practice intentionally not answering all of their questions, hoping to spur their imaginations and spirit of inquiry, and that they would develop the habit of trying to find things out for themselves. My experience was that often students would come up with very interesting and insightful ideas about the world if I could refrain from shutting down the possibilities that opened with a question by slapping a pat answer on it.

Sometimes, especially with younger elementary school children (K – 3 or so), I took this practice a step further, and intentionally told them things that weren’t true. The story of “The Rhinoceros” that I told to first grade students at Carrollwood Day School when I taught there from 1999 – 2003 is the tallest example of these tales that I told over the years, and became something of a tradition and a legend there among the students, some of whom would even corroborate my story and help maintain the myth among the younger students once they discovered I had been leading them on.

The intercom system at the old CDS campus

In those days CDS was a K-8 school that occupied the premises of a summer camp on a lake in Odessa, Florida during the school year. The campus was covered with huge old live oak trees, and the buildings in which classes were held sprawled across several acres. At the front of the property on Gunn Highway was a large building with some offices, a kitchen, and an auditorium/multi-purpose space used variously as school cafeteria, rehearsal space for dancing and theatre, school assemblies, and more. Between Gunn Highway and the lake were six smaller buildings on the elementary school side of campus, all built on the same design with three rooms, each used as a classroom. In the years I taught at CDS, there were two or three classes each for grades 1 – 5 (Kindergarteners attended school at the early childhood campus), and all of their classes were held in these buildings. Ball fields for physical education and a larger classroom building that included a science lab were on the the middle school side of the campus, where students in grades 6 – 8 attended classes.

“Specials” were housed in the building farthest from the road on the elementary side of campus – the three rooms in our building held the music and art rooms and the school library. Elementary classroom teachers would walk their classes across campus to and from “specials”.

Each classroom at CDS was outfitted with an intercom: a speaker that was mounted on the wall and controlled from the main office: announcements could be made to every classroom or two-way communication could be made with each class individually utilizing this intercom system.

The elementary and middle schools ran on different schedules. When elementary classes were scheduled to attend a special or other event outside their own classroom, it was simply the classroom teacher’s responsibility to bring their class at the right time. In the middle school, however, there was a “bell system” that rang over the intercom system in their classroom to signal the beginning and end of each class period.

Since both elementary and middle school classes participated in specials, the middle school bells rang over our intercoms in the specials building – but did not ring in the elementary school classrooms.

The Rhinoceros

I don’t know what inspired me, but one morning in August 2000 – at the beginning of my second year teaching at CDS – I was sitting with a group of first graders in the middle of class when the middle school bell rang over the intercom. The children were startled – a couple of them actually looked like they were about to jump out of their seats – and asked what was that noise?

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s just the rhinoceros. He must be hungry again!” I said.

The rhinoceros! That created a bit of a stir. Most of these children had spent years at the CDS early childhood campus, and were now finally “graders” in their first week at the big school, as the students at the ECC called those students who had grade levels assigned to their classes.

“Yes, of course, haven’t you heard about the rhino yet? He lives in a pen over by the middle school, near the lake. When he’s hungry, he pushes a button in his pen to ring the bell we just heard, and one of the middle schoolers will go out to his pen and feed him.”

Some laughed and some looked at me incredulously, but I could almost see their imaginations at work by the expressions on their faces as they took in my story and the preposterous idea of a rhinoceros living right here, at school!

Some of them believed me, and I think some of them just enjoyed the idea even though they knew I was putting them on – whenever the bell rang during class, they would often shout out “The Rhino!!!!!” and grin. Some of them told me weeks or months later that they had finally made it over to the middle school side of campus and looked all over the place: they couldn’t find the rhinoceros anywhere!

Each year brought a new crop of first graders and I continued to tell the story of the hungry rhinoceros with each class when they first heard the middle school bell ring over the intercom in my classroom.

Why I did it

This is one of many instances in which I perpetuated falsehoods with my students – such as the story of where falafel comes from (falafel trees, of course), or the time I explained the gash on my forehead (all too real) with the story about the bear I fought on my way to school…

One reason I did this was that it was simply fun – fun to let my imagination run away a bit and take the children with me. I think that though children are less experienced and therefore more gullible than adults, often they know when they are being had and just enjoy going along for the ride.

More importantly, I think that it is important that children learn that adults don’t always tell the truth – even those they look up to. I was careful always to be truthful about things that are important and about the subject of our work together, and only told them fanciful tales about inconsequential things. But my general idea is that I wanted my students to have the experience of doubting the word of an adult – even one they knew and trusted. This doubt once sown would help them begin to listen critically to what they were told – by anyone – and weigh it against what they know to be true, their own ideas and experiences.

All of this, and some laughs along the way.

©2016 Walter Bitner

Walter Bitner is a multi-instrumentalist, singer, conductor, and teacher, and serves as Director of Education & Community Engagement for the Richmond Symphony in Richmond, Virginia. His column Off The Podium is featured in Choral Director magazine, and he writes about music and education on his website Off The Podium at walterbitner.com.

This article is a companion to my article  Wholehearted Attention.

It’s generally accepted that one of the goals of education – beyond the attainment of specific content objectives – is to instill in the child a love for learning.  It has been my experience however, that a love for learning is part of a child’s natural state and does not need to be instilled.  Children who exhibit behavior to the contrary have most often faced social and/or emotional difficulties that impede their inherent wish to learn and grow; some of a teacher’s work involves trying to determine what these obstacles are and finding ways around them.  Beyond providing the child an acquaintance with and proficiency in the broad array of subjects necessary for success in life, the overarching goal of education might be better described as enabling the child to become her own teacher.

The music teacher has a unique opportunity and responsibility for helping students to reach this goal.  Often it is the music teacher who has the most sustained relationship with students in the school environment, working with the same children throughout their experience at a school, while in other classes, their teachers change from year to year.  Because of this prolonged relationship with her students, as well as the emotional and social aspects of music making, the music teacher has the chance to make an impact on a child’s life in a deep and lasting way that is distinct from the other relationships a child develops with adults in school.

Like other teachers, the music teacher’s work largely consists of placing demands on students and helping them rise to meet these demands.  Music is a performing art, and these demands are presented in the context of the rehearsal process.  As students work with their music teacher over a prolonged period of time, they become accustomed to this process as they apply it to a constantly expanding repertoire, which is carefully chosen by the teacher to present appropriate new challenges, and to develop their musical and technical skill sets, their knowledge and understanding of the art form, and perhaps most importantly, their own awareness of themselves as artists, as human beings, and as learners.

A music teacher is initially aided in this process by the impression that children often hold that music-making is “fun” and somehow more attractive to them than some of the other subjects taught in school.  To be sure, a music program that is taught well will provide many joyful experiences for those who participate.  But inevitably, in a program that aspires to the pursuit of excellence on the part of teacher and students, the moments come in which the rehearsal process – or the required practice to be done outside of rehearsal by all participants –  is no longer fun: it’s work.  If the material under study is well-chosen, it will present appropriate challenges at every step along the way for students – and these challenges will become more difficult and require more time and effort to master as the students mature and become more accomplished.

Young children learn initially through imitation, and to an extent, even as they mature and become able to learn in other ways, imitation remains a primary mode for acquiring new skills even for adults.  (Just peruse the countless “how to” videos on Youtube if you need evidence to support this assertion.)  The demand on the music teacher to provide a model of how to be a musician is relentless: in any given class students present a range of cognitive development that only begins with the ability to learn through imitation, and although older students will need instruction that challenges them to think and learn in new ways, the instinct for imitation on the part of students does not relax.  When in front of the class, the music teacher becomes the ideal musician, exhibiting wholehearted attention to the rehearsal process, to the students, and to the music itself.  The teacher cannot demand the same intensity of work from the students without demonstrating it herself in a manner that is perceived by the students as beyond their current abilities.  In this way, the teacher’s example becomes a concrete model of the kind of behavior the students are trying to accomplish – what they are imitating – that they carry with them not only as something to hold their own efforts up against when they are practicing on their own, but ultimately, as the kind of person they wish to become.

What allows the teacher to continuously increase the demand she places on the students, thereby increasing their abilities to sustain the work in the classroom for longer periods of time, with more intensity, and meeting ever-greater musical and technical challenges, is trust.

The trust that a child holds in her teacher is the foundation of all the work in the classroom.  This is true in any classroom setting of course, but it is particularly vital and powerful in the case of the music teacher due to the sustained relationship a child develops with the music teacher over a longer period of time than with most other teachers she will encounter in school.  The teacher earns this trust over time, through daily demonstration of her competence as a musician, dedication to her craft, skill as a teacher, and through her demonstrated care for her students as people as well as in her regard for them as aspiring musicians.  Through repeated iterations of the rehearsal process resulting in successful performance, the student’s trust in the teacher becomes more profound and this allows the teacher to place ever greater demands on the student, thereby helping them rise to new heights of accomplishment.

In a long-term relationship built on trust, the student who learns how to sing in a choir or play an instrument in a musical ensemble makes slow and steady progress towards a distant goal, mastering a complex web of skills to arrive at a specific result.  Through repeated experiences of this process, the student gains not only the skills necessary to accomplish the goal of excellence in performance, but a self-knowledge and understanding of their own learning process.  Through imitation on her own of the process she is led through daily in music class, the child becomes able to enact this process on her own, gradually weaning herself from the need for the teacher to lead the process as she matures.  An adult who has been through this demanding experience as a child gains a secure understanding of her own abilities not only as a musician but as a learner, and is able to apply this experience and process confidently to any field of endeavor to which she gives her wholehearted attention.

©2017 Walter Bitner

Walter Bitner is a multi-instrumentalist, singer, conductor, and teacher, and serves as Director of Education & Community Engagement for the Richmond Symphony in Richmond, Virginia. His column Off The Podium is featured in Choral Director magazine, and he writes about music and education on his website Off The Podium at walterbitner.com.

Saturday was the first day of summer, and Sunday was Father’s Day. There is no doubt about it: summer is here and it promises to be a long, hot one.

The spring of 2020 brought calamitous societal changes: the first global pandemic in a century; the greatest economic crash since the depression nearly a century ago; the most widespread and sustained demonstrations for racial equity and justice since 1968: more than fifty years ago.

The changes to our lives and the implications for the future have been profound. So many aspects of our daily lives have been affected – and many have lost livelihood, and loved ones. Uncertainty about many aspects of society – about our daily lives and the weeks and months ahead – is the prevailing mood of our times right now.

This is challenging for all – and for musicians losing the opportunity to practice our social art, difficult indeed. I have followed the work of our colleagues at ACDA and been repeatedly impressed with the flow of deeply considered responses to the developing crisis, some of which has informed my own work as symphony administrator.

It has been my practice for several years now to take a respite from publishing my writing during the summer, as an annual period of rest and renewal. As I prepare to leave ChoralNet for the summer, I’d like to leave you with a thought.

Human experience can be roughly described as both social and existential. On one hand we are the most social of animals, with thousands of years of societies and civilizations to our name replete with all manner of interactions – and on the other hand each one of us has the opportunity to experience an individual depth and singular perspective, unique in the universe .

The social turmoil and demand for conscientious action incumbent upon each of us in response to the context of the three crises I detailed above will vary with each of us, and can easily overwhelm the second, existential aspect of our lives. Yet, if one is practicing social distancing, it seems clear that in this time it is important to tend to this side of our nature also.

Music can continue to nourish us through this time when we cannot practice it socially. Find a way or ways to continue to engage with music this summer! If singing with others is not possible, it may be time to feed your head and your heart through a new engagement with music in some unexpected way.

I wish you peace this summer – stay cool. I’ll be back on September 8.

~ WB