The Middle Years

            She has an eight-period schedule in her backpack, a cell phone in her pocket, and braces in her mouth. Yes, it is time – my oldest daughter is about to start middle school.

            For years, I’ve been telling her she needs to stop growing, and stay young so that her parents don’t feel so old. Unfortunately, she didn’t listen. So on we go, into this new and somewhat terrifying phase of life. The challenges lie just ahead, from hormones to homework. My wife and I have tried to prepare for these changes through the conversations we have with Katie, the rules we set for her, and the behavior we model. Most of all, we just encourage her to focus on her studies.

            And that’s where it got a bit tricky this summer. Katie is 11 years old, and she enjoys reading. But there’s no book as interesting to her as a YouTube video. There’s no poem as delightful as a video blog. There’s no short story as engaging as a music video. Throughout these past two months, Katie has logged a lot more summer hours on the devices than with the books.

            I point to this as a sign of the tech-addicted, 21^st-century child. I fear for the future success of my sixth-grader. I set limits, pull the plug, pull at my hair. Here it comes, I say. She’s doomed.

            But somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I remember. Summer of ’82. I’m heading into sixth grade. I glance at a couple of books my mom gave me. But more than anything else, my goal in that summer is to tally 500,000 points on Atari’s “Asteroids” game. I vividly recall the moment, one late-August night, when I achieve my goal. No one is there to congratulate me. My wrist aches from repetitive joystick motions. But I am happy nonetheless.

            During that sixth-grade year, I can also remember the joys our family’s brand-new VCR brought me. I can remember trying to watch a movie on videocassette every day of the year, from Airplane II to Star Trek II. On top of that, I can remember saving up for as many cassette albums as possible, be they Foreigner or Rick Springfield.

When I try to remember what I learned in sixth grade, things get a little fuzzier. I know I did fine, and I know I did all my homework. But it’s also clear that the technology and entertainment areas of my life were at least as important as the academics.

Now before we get to the obvious moral of this story, let’s clarify a few real differences between 1982 and 2013. When I was playing a game on Atari or watching a movie, my parents knew exactly what I was doing. When Katie’s in her bedroom watching YouTube, there’s a lot more mystery involved. And when I was Katie’s age, there was no such thing as social media. New generations bring new challenges – that much is certain. But my memories remind me that the instincts and interests of an 11-year-old do more or less stay the same.

Katie will do her homework and study hard; she loves to learn, and she loves a sparkling report card. But as she heads into the awkward and eye-opening stage known as middle school, she’s also going to need some time in front of the screen instead of the books. Whether I admit it or not, it’s a part of the child’s education. I’m living proof of that.

           

             

The Piano Man

Grading papers is a craft of sorts – you want to provide valuable feedback to help a student improve those skills, yet you can’t spend an hour on each essay. That would leave you with no life whatsoever. So you work efficiently, red or purple pen in hand. And you write those comments in a manner that is part-teacher, part-psychologist – you’re always aware of whose work you’re grading, and what tone you should use in order to leave that student feeling better about his or her potential, no matter what the final grade may be.

It’s a little like the work of a hitting coach. Instead of fine-tuning a batter’s swing or follow-through, you’re honing some reading and writing skills, via full-class sessions, conferences and written feedback. And instead of poring over video and scouting reports, you’re studying The Great Gatsby and A Raisin in the Sun. You don’t expect to become a household name through the work you do, but you know that if you do it well, there will be more than a few students who will come back and thank you someday.

As I was practicing my grading craft Monday, I did so with another craftsman working in the basement below me. His name is Lee Bulkley, and he’s been tuning pianos for four and a half decades. Some kind neighbors had given us their piano upon moving, and this early-‘80s Kimball upright needed a tuning in the worst way. So, thanks to our friend Peter’s recommendation, we invited Lee over to take a look. He walked in, greeted me, and sat down at the piano. He played a few notes, stopped and said, “Well, it sounds awful, but it’s something we can work with.”

There are craftsmen, and then there are craftsmen. In my book, Lee Bulkley more than earned his italics on Monday. The man spent four and a half hours in our basement, delving into the bowels of that piano in search of a sweet sound. He adjusted the tension of strings and oiled the metal pins that held these strings in place. Every hour or so, Lee played a full tune on the ivories to give the piano a test drive. As I worked through my seniors’ tests on A Streetcar Named Desire, I did so to the sounds of Lee playing “The Entertainer” and “Hello, Dolly!” If a few of my students earned higher test grades than normal, it’s because of the mood that Lee’s music left me in as I sat at my desk.

Occasionally, I walked downstairs to check on Lee. At one point, we digressed from talking about pitch, broken keys and the evolution of the Kimball, and instead started discussing careers. Lee shared with me the reality that his business is not faring so well these days. As with so many businessmen in 2010, Lee has had more profitable years than this one. He’s thinking of new ventures, he said. Right now, he’s looking into real estate.

There was a time, not so long ago, when learning a craft and perfecting that craft were seen as some of the highest accomplishments an adult could achieve in life. In this 21st century, though, it has become possible to computerize so many of the things we use and value. While this has its advantages, it also tends to leave the craftsman behind.

And when we do that, we lose something. The Lee Bulkleys of this world have provided an awful lot of soul to the music of life. Losing them would be a bit like assessing our students solely through standardized tests. Or teaching youngsters how to hit a baseball via YouTube videos.

Lee got halfway through the tuning process on Monday. He’s coming back soon, to finish the job. He estimates it will take another four hours. I look forward to seeing him walk up the driveway, toolbox in hand. And I can’t wait to hear him test out his handiwork with a song or two. I may even put the grading aside this time, and just sit and listen.