Critical Teaching Narrative

Change Would Come

na beatrice

      Often I found myself pondering over the mystery of Kalā. I wondered why he was placed in my HS Ensemble 1 class. He didn't appear to be drawn to music. He didn't want to play ukulele; nor did he like to sing. He didn't think he could. At some point in the first quarter, I was told that students were placed in their electives not necessarily by choice, but at the convenience of the registrar. I asked myself whose elective was it?

      Nearly everyday, Kalā sat and talked to whomever would listen. He challenged me on nearly every directive I gave. Several boys, including Kalā, had virtually no control of their use of profanity, gushing streams of sewage flowed out of their mouths. It didn't matter that my expectations for classroom procedures, behaviors, and music benchmarks were charted on poster paper and referenced daily. Any suggestions I offered to engage him were met with blatant refusal. I felt an intense sense of disdain and disrespect exude from Kalā. I began to dread coming to school.

      Kalā was a part-Hawaiian Japanese boy with dark brown eyes and short black well-groomed hair. One could sense his fondness of the ocean by the dark rich brown of his skin. His ahletic agility was evident as he took a swing in the air with his imaginary baseball bat. Mr. Cool Dude reigned over all in his designer T-shirt, surf shorts, and alabaster white ahletic shoes. On occasions he'd strut into my room, ipod in hand, neon blue ear buds to his head. A sudden pop of his shoulder, torso, then hip in syncopation to the rhythmic beating in his ear. At times, he was light and airy dancing across the carpeted floor, kaholo, 'uwehe, ami as he chanted a hula kahiko or sang his favorite hula auwana. At other times, he sat despondent to the lesson thinking perhaps that Kumu Mahi was a bore and a fool to expect him to do what she wanted. He'd carry on lengthy conversations with a fellow student who was straining to follow the lesson. In one moment he was animated and boistrous, in another moment contemplatively clasped in a lingering hug with a female classmate. After numerous failed attempts to engage Kalā in a musical task that would welcome him as a bona fide member of the ensemble, I began to lose all hope and sank into despair. With every breath I took, Kalā became a barb of wana piercing my throbbing heart.

      This was suppose to be my dream job, teaching at Ke Kula 'O 'Ehunuikaimalino, a Hawaiian Immersion school, where cultural practices and Hawaiian language acquisition were the foundational missions of the school. These students were here by choice due to their love of our culture and language, yeah, right!@?#! The reality was that not all children were there by their own choice, but because their parents demanded it! Surely there were other factors that contributed to the disrespect, lack of control, self-centered and lazy behavior. So two things were very clear, their parents forced them to be there, and the registrar placed some of them in their electives to accommodate the master schedule. Sadly, I was disillusioned about the loftly noble mission of 'Ehunuikaimalino.

      As the first year came to a close, I hoped we could move Kalā to an elective more suited to his liking. However upon returning the next year, he stayed on with the rest of the class to Ensemble 2. This ensemble group became the prominent advanced music group of our school; it consisted of the best vocalist and instrumentalist. I managed to build these individuals in to a fine performance group; the talent, aptitude and desire was always there. I worried about how I could improve the productivity of this group while managing Kalā's negativity and distractability. It was going to be another excruciatingly painful year. So again, I discussed privately with him as to the purpose of the class and what our collective goals would be. After conferencing with the administration and mom, I gave in to one of his explanations for his poor behavior. He claimed that he could not sing tenor, and that he preferred bass instead. Though I was trained to critically listen to and assess vocal range and quality, I conceded to his demand, this was not a battle worth fighting.

      Then suddenly as if the almighty hand tugged at a pullstring, the light bulb finally illuminated a multifaceted electronicYamada piano in the front corner of my room; the great midi was designed to perform any task. I was one with that glorious instrument alive with sound and rhythm, mesmerizing my entire being, and lifting me to a higher plain than I had ever been to before. Kalā recognized it; yearned to be apart of it. His verocious appetite for piano music was so demanding, that each night I was glued to YouTube, listening, printing words, charting chords, and scribbling notes to myself. I was ready each day to embrace this new challenge. It wasn't that he hadn't heard the piano; he didn't recognize its possibilities. Even mom declared that at home, he was consumed by his need to drink in more piano.

      I chose to meet these students right where they were, instead of first requiring that they learn fundamentals (reading skills). It would have been tedious, frustrating, and they would have lost interest at the start. So while we focused on their choice songs, I infused basic music theory skills; such as chord structure, chord progression, and transposing keys. Of course they needed to know the names of the notes on the keyboard, then I taught them how to practice the scales to loosen their fingers. Kalā was this great big sponge soaking it all in, theory and all. One struggle was that he wanted instant gratification, soon he realized that fluency came at a cost, lots and lots of practice. He was willing to practice though; everyday he bounced into my room with pure excitement. These boys even learned Beethoven's Bagatelle in A minor “Für de Elise”. They had their own rendition with piano, ukulele, and bass; it was beautiful. The piano allowed me to broaden their musical horizons to genre they never dreamed of before coming to ensemble class.

      By March, they knew that my music position was cut, then by May they realized I would not return to 'Ehunuikaimalino. Like a slow swell gaining momentum as it drew nearer to shore, we began to do more projects together. We recorded new original songs for a K-1 English/Hawaiian curriculum project as well as numerous Hawaiian songs and popular songs of their choice. While Kalā's voice was recorded in large group pieces, he never wanted to be recorded on the piano. That was okay, he made important gains this year.

      At the end of each week, we'd have Panina; it was a closing ceremony to send us off for the weekend. We lined up by grade levels at the Piko, the center of the school yard. My ensemble stood at the front to lead with ukuleles and charts of the songs for that day. A girl led the oli, chant for all to sing, then we sang a couple songs, next the pu (conch shell) was blown, all was quiet. We all joined hands so that it was one continues connected line the umbilical cord uniting mother and child as one. Finally, a boy gave the direction to pule (pray), and we all recited the final pray. All was spoken and sung in Hawaiian, when done reverently Panina became the ho'okupu wrapped in la'i to Ke Akua (a gift sealed in ti leaf to God).

      What happened at the last Panina for the school year, I could not have anticipated in all my 32 years of teaching. On this last day, I chose a song we normally sang before a holiday break, Ke Akua Pu a Hui Hou Kākou, God Be With You Til We Meet Again. As usual, I bellowed it with my deepest fullest voice, but at this final Panina I could not hear my ensemble students' voices. I didn't usually watch them, instead I was facing the rest of the student body. Well, I noticed a few elementary students tearing and wiping their eyes, but I sang on strong as ever. Then the pu sounded 3 times, puuu..., puuu..., puuu...... Normally, Kaumuali'i gave the next command. This time there was dead silence...; I kept my head low eyes shut. Still, no command. Then, I heard him trying to catch his breath, sniffling, struggling to compose himself. The command was given not without great difficulty, and my ensemble kids could not even say the pule. As I turned, I was met with eyes overflowing with tears mouths gasping for air, every single member of my ensemble class, including Kalā, could not control the emotion. After all the painful trials, the defiance, the attitude, the disrespect, all the selfish desires, they finally realized this was the end of a moment in our lives where we made history. We came together and recreated some beautiful music. We would never pass this way again. It was a moment I would cherish forever.