One

     The cover of the July 19, 2010 issue of Time features the photo of a blond, 9-year-old boy holding the hands of his parents, only their arms showing in the frame of the photo.  The headline reads:  The Only Child Myth -- They're supposed to be selfish, spoiled, and lonely.  In fact, they're just fine -- and on the rise.

     As the mother of an only child, I found the article of great interest.  But what struck me most about the magazine cover was not the headline so much as the photo of the little boy.  He reminded me of my own son at that age, so I dug out a comparable photo (above).  This is one of many, many photos of Steve, Greg, and me -- not a "family of four," (or five, or more) but a family of three.  And, like many of the parents featured in the article, we limited our offspring to one by choice.

     It was not an easy decision.  Steve is one of six kids; I have one sister.  We had always assumed we would have at least two children.  But, by the time Greg was 3 years old, it had become increasingly clear to us that more than one child would pose a daunting challenge.  After considerable thought, we decided to stop with one.  It's a choice we have never regretted.  The author of the article, Lauren Sandler, is an only child herself -- or, as she prefers to call herself, a "singleton."  Her parents stopped with one child after considering their life goals:  "They wanted the experience of parenting but also their careers, the freedom to travel and the lower cost and urbane excitement of making a home in an apartment rather than a suburban house."  Today, parents are  more likely to cite the economy and an uncertain financial future as the primary reasons for having only one child.

     Finances were a major factor in our decision, as well as our crazy musicians' schedules.  We knew from the start that it would be a challenge to provide all the things we wanted for our child, not just financially but also in terms of time and attention.  We worried that dividing our meager resources among multiple children would mean shortchanging all of them.  As it turned out, we were right.  Children are expensive and becoming more so.  According to Ms. Sandler, "the U.S. Department of Agriculture reports that the average child in the U.S. costs his or her parents about $286, 050 -- before college.  These costs have actually risen during the recession." 

     In our case, we had an even more compelling reason to seriously question the wisdom of having a second child.  My ridiculously easy pregnancy (I never even had morning sickness) turned into a nightmare at delivery.  I developed preeclampsia in my last trimester, which resulted in an early delivery by C-section and 48 touch-and-go hours afterward during which I exhibited high blood pressure, a high fever, and fluid retention that threatened to shut down my kidneys.  After the fact, I learned that preeclampsia apparently runs in the family.  I've never been sicker in my life, and the point wasn't lost on me that, in another era, I would have died in childbirth (and so would my baby).  Thanks to modern medicine and two fantastic obstetricians experienced with high-risk deliveries, I made a full recovery.  To me, not risking another pregnancy made sense.  After all, I had a child now;  he deserved a mother who was fully able to nurture him to adulthood, and I wanted to be able to do that. On a personal note, I have never felt "unfulfilled" as a mother of a singleton.  On the contrary, I think focusing my time and attention on the care of one child has made me a better mother than I might have been otherwise.  After all, I'm a private flute teacher for a living -- I'm at my best when I concentrate on one child at a time.

     And yet, when we made our "only child" decision public, we were pounded with criticism from friends, acquaintances, colleagues, and even family members -- some of whom knew our circumstances and still declared it "selfish" to stop with one child.  One person expressed how "unimaginable" it would be to not have siblings!  Another stated with authority, "All children need siblings."   At least two people directly admonished me:  "Don't make Greg be an only child!" -- as if that were some kind of punishment.  Most annoying, a colleague of Steve's frequently asked him, "When are you and Emily going to have another baby?"
     As Ms. Sandler points out in her article, the stereotype of the only child as being lonely, selfish, and maladjusted, persists -- despite numerous studies that prove otherwise.  Even The View's Sherri Shepherd (the mother of a singleton herself), fanned the flame with her statement that she knows "a lot of selfish only children."  In fairness, the next day she backtracked, claiming that she meant to say "self-centered" and gave an example of a friend of hers (an only) who doesn't like to share.  Well, I'm glad she cleared that up!

     From my own perspective, most of the singletons I have known are very well-adjusted, have plenty of friends, and are generous to a fault.  Research backs this up, along with another finding, according to Sandler:  " . . . studies showed that singletons aren't measurably different from other kids -- except that they, along with firstborns and people who have only one sibling, score higher in measures of intelligence and achievement."  Greg always exhibited high intellect and quite advanced verbal skills -- perhaps as a result of spending more time with adults than with other children.  Although he did not always apply consistent effort in his studies, he did maintain straight As throughout his high school years.  Maladjusted?  I don't think so.  

     As a child, Greg was, well, gregarious.  He sought out friends, and he was always eager (sometimes a little too eager, in my opinion) to share his toys.  Only one child actually lived at our house, but you'd never know it -- our house was "Kid Central."  Greg's childhood was filled with playmates and sleep-overs.  His cousins (the closest thing to siblings) were also frequent visitors.  The only time he ever seemed lonely was when all his friends were gone on summer vacation with their families.  During those times, he learned to entertain himself.  If you ask me, that's a skill that every child should develop.

     I spent this past year chronicling my only child's last year of high school in this blog.  How fitting that the "One and Done" article appears in Time this summer, just a week before Greg's 18th birthday.  Ms. Sandler concludes with the following observation:  "Like most only children, I've cast cousins and friends as ersatz siblings since I was a child, knowing it's not the same as having a brother or a sister but not necessarily missing what I don't have."  I've heard Greg express the same sentiment.  Did we do the right thing, having only one child?  If the "right thing" is raising your children -- no matter how many you have -- to be kind, polite, generous, responsible, and happy young adults . . . then I'd answer an emphatic YES.  Or, to quote my husband's response to his nosy colleague:  "We got it right the first time." 

Sandler, Lauren.  "One and Done,"  p. 34, Time,  Vol. 176, No. 3, July 19, 2010.

    

Senior Moment No. 10: Post-Graduate Reflections

To the reader:  This is the last in a series of postings chronicling my son Greg's senior year in high school.  Previous postings can be found under the heading "Senior Moments."

                                                                                                  

     It's hard to believe that nearly a month has passed since graduation.  Four weeks ago tonight Greg received his high school diploma.  The traditional march to the strains of Pomp and Circumstance (although the tempo that night was closer to a sprint than a march); a couple of speeches; a few well-chosen words of advice; the handshake from the principal; a shower of silly string  . . . and in 90 minutes it was over!  I meant to post this last installment of "Senior Moments" on graduation night, but it was late when we got home; I was too tired.  The next day was "Recovery Day" after the whirlwind of activity that marked Graduation Weekend.  The following weekend was my studio recital; the weekend after that Memorial Day weekend.  Then came June and starting my summer lesson schedule.  In short, we've moved on.   Time didn't stop with Greg's graduation.  So now I've had nearly a month to let it sink in and reflect on this momentous rite of passage.  And you know what?  A month later, it doesn't seem quite as life-altering as I expected. 

     For one thing, Greg is still living at home and will be for the next couple of years while he attends Johnson County Community College.  Empty-nesters?  Not yet.  Other than sleeping in later -- it is summer, after all -- our routines aren't all that different.  Greg is still working part time at Pizza Hut; I'm still teaching private lessons; Steve is still playing weekend gigs and conducting his usual summer show at The Theatre in the Park ("Annie," if you must know). 

     But, little by little, things are changing.  The week after graduation Greg cleaned out his room.  He cleared out his closet, dresser drawers, shelves -- even under his bed (!) -- and removed no fewer than four large trash bags of stuff.  Two bags went to Goodwill, another to a garage sale, and the fourth one into the trash.  It's amazing -- for years I nagged Greg to clean out his closet.  If I'd only known, I would have encouraged him to graduate earlier!  (Just kidding.)  He moved the large dresser out of his room and added more shelves to his closet; he also replaced the old particle board student desk with a snazzy new one made of glass and metal.  I gave him my plush Crate & Barrel chair.  I bought it through Craig's List last year, thinking it would be a nice addition to my bedroom, but it took up too much space.  Steve was constantly running into it and complaining about it -- I knew he wouldn't miss it!  All that's left to do is paint, and Greg's room will look more like a college dorm room . . . only slightly larger and much less expensive.  In the meantime, we've been collecting several pieces of furniture in the basement:  the old dresser, our old kitchen table and chairs -- all in storage until the day that Greg moves out. 

     When I began my blog last summer, it was with the idea to chronicle my son's last year of high school.  In my first "Senior Moments" posting, I listed all the things I wished we had done before Greg's senior year.  Among them was "We should have bought a camcorder."  Well, guess what?  The week before graduation, I bought one!  We took it to the graduation ceremony, and shot a few minutes of the program.  Unfortunately, we were too far away to get a viewable film.  But that's okay.  I figure it's a justifiable expense, since we can use it to take videos of some of our musical performances (hey, it's tax-deductible!).  We did get some nice still photos (posted at the beginning and end of this blog). 

     The end of Greg's senior year doesn't mean the end of my blog.  Far from it.  Maybe this fall I'll start a blog chronicling Greg's college experience.  Maybe I'll write more about music and even post some homemade videos (once I learn how).  In any case, I'm open to suggestions.  I've got all the time in the world now -- after all, I'm the parent of a high school graduate. 

Senior Moment No. 9: DONE!

     Today I heard the words I've been waiting to hear all year from my graduating senior:  "I just wrote my last essay for Mrs. Simmons!"  Just kidding.  Of course, every parent is waiting for that moment when her child's name is called and he receives his diploma and a handshake from the school principal.  That moment will arrive on Sunday.

     But today is still a day for celebration.  It was Greg's absolute last day of high school classes.  The rest of the week will be filled with celebrations, awards ceremonies, and graduation practice, but today is the first step across the threshold.

     I think I remember my own "last day of high school" better than I do the graduation ceremony or any other graduation activities.  It was the most liberating feeling, walking out the front door of the school, knowing that it was the last time I would walk through those doors as a student.  Like Greg did today when he arrived "home from school" for the last time, I felt like high-fiving everyone.  That is, until I opened my flute case and found it empty!  A frantic phone call to the school alerted the band director to the alleged theft.  Within minutes he called back to say that he had found my flute -- hidden at the very back of a deep shelf in the instrument storage room.  My euphoria at leaving school for the last time was short-lived, as I returned to the building to collect my flute.

     To this day, I have no idea who took my flute out of its case and hid it in the deepest recesses of the shelves in the storage room.  Was it a prank?  Did the thief hide the flute, planning to return for it later?  I'll never know.  But the event cast a pall on my otherwise perfect "last day."  Moreover, it left a bad taste in my mouth about high school in general.  Not hard to do -- I didn't enjoy high school.  I mostly viewed it as something to be merely tolerated on my way to something better.  My high school years began promisingly at Patton Jr. High School, Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas.  I had the great fortune to spend 6th through 9th grade in one of the best school districts in the country.  Even better, it was populated by military kids like me; I had no difficulty fitting in.  Unfortunately, things went downhill from there.
     I spent one miserable year at Leavenworth High School, where I discovered an undercurrent of hostility against Army brats.  In the insulated environment of Ft. Leavenworth (basically a self-sustaining small town), I had been blissfully unaware of this phenomenon.  Sophomore year, it smacked me in the face.  As if it weren't obvious enough by the disdainful looks, this negative attitude toward "brats" was confirmed by an anonymous editorial condemning the military lifestyle and characterizing military dependents as a bunch of snobs.  It was a relief, then, to move to Kansas City.
     The downside, though, was enrolling in my third school (make that third high school) in as many years.  My dad left the Army and joined a private optometry practice in Kansas City, Kansas.  My last two years of high school were spent at Washington High, where I made only a handful of friends.  Most of the kids had known each other since kindergarten; by the time I got to know people, we were graduating.  I've never been to a high school class reunion, and I have no intention of ever attending one.  Mostly, I have only a vague memory of my last two years of high school (no, I wasn't drunk or on drugs!).  I felt like I was in a holding pattern; I had no real connection to the place or the people.  The very few times I have actually encountered anyone from my graduating class, I honestly couldn't remember them.  Their faces and names didn't register.  Why torture myself (and others) staring blankly at name tags, trying desperately to place them?  Besides, I'd probably spend the entire reunion wondering which one of them stole my flute on the last day of school!
     I think Greg has had a better high school experience than I did.  Still, he's had his share of disappointments, and he's ready to move on.  He doesn't romanticize high school; he understands that the best is yet to come.  He's been telling us all year that he can't wait to move on to the next phase of his life.  As of today, one foot is out the door.  Ah, that lighter-than-air, carefree feeling! If only I could put it into words.  Well, I think "I just wrote my last essay for Mrs. Simmons!" says it all.  Don't you?  
         

    

I'ma Steal Your Thunder

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9d8S_9PZ56M

     I've been "kanye'd!"  Remember last fall when Kanye West rudely interrupted Taylor Swift's acceptance speech at the MTV Awards, effectively stealing her spotlight?  (Click the link above to view the video).  Well, a similar thing happened to me last week, only my "Kanye" moment occurred via email, not cable television.

     I emailed a notice about an upcoming concert to a group of musicians.  Shortly after the email went out, I received a response from one of the recipients.  The sender hit 'reply all.'  "An embarrassment of riches!" began the message, which went on to advertise the sender's own concert . . . scheduled at the same time as mine.  The sender obviously realized the two concerts coincided and attempted to cover up her faux pas by "facetiously" making note of that fact and then inviting the other recipients to call her while she was in town.  Hmm.  I don't think facetious is quite the right word to describe this situation.  Let's see -- I sent an announcement/invitation about a concert to a group of musician friends; one of the recipients used my email group to promote her own competing concert.  What do you think, Miss Manners?

     Gentle Reader:  It was most certainly rude, but that's not the half of it.  By clicking 'reply all,' thereby using your email group (can't she create her own?), she in effect made you her private (unpaid) secretary.  In the future, you might consider sending out concert notices by way of the U.S. Postal Service.

     Of course, anyone who reads Miss Manners's column knows that she frowns upon sending any sort of invitation by email.  Still, she acknowledges that email has become the most efficient (if not polite) form of communication, and the rules of etiquette still apply.  
     How about another opinion?  What say you, Dear Abby? 
     Dear Kanye'd:  Well, I always say that no one can take advantage of you without your permission.  However, this seems to be one of those rare instances in which someone did take advantage of you without your permission!  My advice is to simply eliminate her from all future mailings.
     I'm sure that some of my audience thinks I'm overreacting and I should just let it go.  So somebody stole my thunder -- what does it matter?  Well, for one thing, I'm not the only one who took offense.  I received feedback from three other recipients of both my original message and the piggyback response.  One recipient emailed me privately with the following subject line:  "Did you just get trumped?"  All agreed that the sender was out of line. 
     Secondly, there's no excuse for rudeness.  People choose to be rude; exhibiting rude behavior does not happen by accident.  Unfortunately, we live in a time when rude behavior is increasing.  We live in a country where shouting insults, vulgarity, and name-calling are becoming the norm in public discourse.  Kanye West didn't just wander on stage at the MTV Awards, stumble upon the microphone in Taylor Swift's hand, and randomly express his opinion that Beyonce should have won the "Best Video" award.  He made a conscious decision to trump Taylor's moment and make it his own.  In much the same way, my facetious colleague made a conscious decision to use my email group to further her own agenda.  A few months ago, another colleague made a conscious decision to "non-invite" my husband to a brunch with other musicians (again, by email) by announcing to all of the recipients of the message that she didn't invite him because she didn't think he would want to come.  What would Miss Manners say to that?
     Everything we need to know about how to get along with others we learned in kindergarten.  I'm assuming, of course, that all of the aforementioned people attended kindergarten.  Even if they didn't, it doesn't take a D.M.A. to know the basic rules of civility:  Always say "please" and "thank you." Don't interrupt. Wait your turn.  Respect others' personal space.  Ask permission before you use your friends' stuff.  You can't invite just one person in the class to your birthday party, you must invite the entire class; to do otherwise is impolite. 
     Manners matter. There is another facet to the Kanye West-Taylor Swift debacle.  Beyonce Knowles, the singer whose video was the subject of Kanye's spotlight-stealing rant, showed real class later in the show when she took the stage to accept an award.  Instead of using her time to give her own acceptance speech (as she was entitled to do), Beyonce called Taylor to the stage and selflessly yielded the microphone to Taylor so she could complete her interrupted speech.  If you ask me, the world would be a much nicer place if we had more Beyonces and fewer Kanyes.  
     Every one of the musicians who received my emailed concert announcement is a teacher.  Included in that announcement was a request:  "Please pass this announcement along to your students."  Perhaps I should have added:  "And please set a good example for your students!"  I'm a teacher, too.  That's why I can't just let this incident pass without comment.  There's an often-used saying these days:  Be the change you want to see in the world.  Be a Beyonce, not a Kanye.
        
    
    
       

Senior Moment No. 8: Home Stretch!

     Greg walked in the door yesterday after school and announced, "I only have eight more days of school!"  That's eight more days of public school.  Two weeks from tomorrow he will officially graduate, leaving behind the routines that have governed his life for the last thirteen years.  Think about that -- Greg (and the rest of the Class of 2010) has spent most of his life in school.  Seven hours a day, five days a week, nine months of the year.  By my estimation, he has eaten more than 2,000 school lunches.  He went through at least five backpacks; I can't even begin to guess how many pencils or how many sheets of notebook paper.

     Even Greg noted how odd it seems to be coming to the end of an entire stage of life.  Although, truth be told, he checked out weeks ago.  Like all graduating seniors, Greg has been on cruise-control for the entire last quarter of school.  He already has one foot in the door at college, having completed enrollment at Johnson County Community College for this fall.  All that's left to do now is pay tuition.

     And that's it.  Presto -- as one phase of his life is ending, the next is beginning.  It's an almost seamless transition, maybe more so in Greg's case because he isn't leaving home just yet.  He plans to attend JCCC for two years and then transfer to a four-year college, most likely the University of Kansas.  He will be living at home, so it won't be such a huge upheaval.  In our case, Steve and I can expect a delay in "Empty Nest Syndrome."  In the meantime, the graduation announcements have been mailed and a family celebration planned.  All that remains for Greg is finals week, the Senior Picnic, and Commencement itself.  In just two weeks, it will all be over. 

     It's not just Greg who will be moving on.  Since he's our only child, it also means that Steve and I will no longer be directly involved in our child's schooling.  Oh, I'll still have ties to the Olathe school district through my private flute students and my part time position as a tutor in the AVID program.  But it won't be quite the same.  I'll miss the interaction with Greg's teachers; from now on, his progress will be largely between him and his professors -- no more progress reports addressed to "The Parents of Greg Smith."  I'll kind of miss signing field trip permission slips.  Kind of.  I won't miss receiving an email update of Greg's lunch account balance every Thursday.  And, since Greg's earliest class at JCCC will be at 9:00 a.m., I'm looking forward to sleeping a little later before I have to get up and make sure he's awake.  (Look, I'm a realist -- Greg's a sound sleeper in the habit of hitting the snooze button multiple times and then dozing off.  I'm his backup alarm.)

     So.  Eight more days.  (Sigh.)

    

The Mythology of Music Festival Judging

     I just heard my last student's contest solo this week -- tomorrow is the BIG DAY.  This year I have eleven students playing solos and four playing in small ensembles for the annual spring music event universally known as "Contest."  It's not really a contest, more of an assessment test in which students prepare solos and ensembles to perform for an adjudicator.  The adjudicator (just call her "judge") writes (hopefully) constructive comments and affixes a rating number to the upper right hand corner of the comment sheet.  A first division rating (I) is the best; a II is good but not enough to qualify for a trip to the state level; a III is, well, average; a IV is below average and in need of an intervention; a V means the student is on life support, musically speaking. 

     I know this system well.  In addition to having coached solos and ensembles for the past 25 or more years, I have judged solos and ensembles at the Regional and State levels.  This is the high school music program equivalent of World Figure Skating; the best of the best get to move on to the Olympics, while the also-rans have to wait until next year to try again.  And, like the figure skating scoring system, the solo & ensemble festival scoring is highly subjective.

     Not surprisingly, a number of urban myths have developed over the years.  As a judge and a flute teacher, I try to dispel the myths, but the same ones keep cropping up year after year.  So, as a public service -- on the eve of the Kansas Regional Solo and Ensemble Festivals -- I would like to address some of the more persistent ones.

     1)   Judges are instructed to only give a I rating to 10% of the students.  Untrue.  In nearly two decades of festival judging, I have never once been instructed to give a certain percentage of Is, IIs, etc.  Judges are given a guide sheet to aid them in determining a rating.  For example, a I performance is "an outstanding performance, with few technical errors and exemplifying a truly musical expression.  This rating should be reserved for the truly outstanding performance."  Contrast that with the description of a III performance:  "An average performance, showing accomplishment and marked promise.  Lacks one or more essential musical qualities, has musical weakness, and ineffectively uses existing instrumentation."  Given the open-endedness of the descriptions, it's perfectly understandable that one judge's I rating may be another's II.  As in figure skating, music performance ratings vary from one judge to the next.

     2)  It's better to play 1st in the morning, 1st after lunch, or 1st after the morning and afternoon breaks; the judge is fresh, relaxed, and more lenient.  Uh, don't count on it.  A truly outstanding performance is appreciated no matter what time of day the judge hears it.  I've given IIIs to the first three or four performers and Is in the middle of the afternoon . . . and everything in between at all times of the day.  The student's performance time is neither an advantage nor a disadvantage.  The advantage depends on the level of preparation. 

     3)  Judges are always comparing performances, especially if more than one student plays the same piece.  Well, maybe.  But honestly, once the next student walks into the room, I've forgotten the performance I just heard.  I shift my focus to the student standing before me and give that student my undivided attention.  There are simply too many performances to listen to throughout the day for me to consciously make comparisons.  Besides, I'm a professional -- my job is to comment and rate each performance as I hear it.

     4)  I will get a lower rating if: a) my piece is too long, b) my piece is too short, c) I play an unaccompanied piece, d)  my accompanist sucks, e) I use my music instead of playing from memory.  Okay, some of these concerns may be valid, but it depends on the rules set down by the State High School Activities Association.  In Missouri, for example, there is a minimum and a maximum time limit, and there are penalties for going over or under; in Kansas, there are no such time restrictions.  Each student is allotted a time slot of about 8 minutes or so, which includes tuning to the piano.  If a student goes over his or her time, he or she will simply be asked to stop playing.  It doesn't affect the rating, but it's kind of a bummer not to finish the piece.  Some states require memorization; in Kansas, it varies by instrument.  All my flute students need to know is that memorization is not required at Regional or State in Kansas.  There is also no list of "acceptable pieces" in Kansas, although there is such a list in Missouri.  Kansas students may play unaccompanied pieces; however, pieces that require piano accompaniment must be performed with an accompanist.  Performing without the necessary accompaniment could result in disqualification. 

     As for the performance level of the accompanist . . . well, that's another subjective element that requires an adjudicator to use his or her best, uh, judgment.  Officially, judges are supposed to comment and assess ratings only on the solo, not the accompaniment.  But I've judged many a solo where the accompanist was a real detriment to the overall performance.  It's hard not to downgrade the soloist when accompanist issues so adversely affect the performance that the student can't perform his or her best.  The best defense is a good offense:  Get a good accompanist in the first place and schedule enough rehearsals with that person to feel confident and secure in the performance.  And don't wait too late -- good accompanists' schedules fill up fast!

     5)  The judge graded me down because: a) she didn't like the way I was dressed, b) the music stand wasn't the right height for me, c) I played a piece that was too easy/hard.  Judges are cautioned not to comment on dress or choice of music; if the judge did make such a comment, then you might have a legitimate grievance.  I said might.  But think about how you present yourself -- your dress, posture, and choice of music say a lot about you as a musician.  How do those things affect your perception of your favorite rock artist, for example?  As much as we like to think it's only about the music, the fact is the way you present yourself visually absolutely affects the way you play.  It's difficult to stand up straight and be comfortable in 4-inch heels.  If your feet hurt, you will probably be distracted and won't play your best.  A good rule of thumb:  Dress nice, but comfortably.  If you look sloppy, you tend to play that way; if you look polished, you tend to play that way.  It's your choice.

     A word about the music stand -- it is yours to use however you wish (within reason).  If it's too high or too low when you walk in the room, adjust it to the height that's comfortable for you.  Remember, judges are not allowed to converse with the student.  As a judge, I may be thinking you need to raise the music stand, but it's not my place to suggest it.  If you don't adjust it and you end up bending down to see the music, then I am perfectly within my rights to put a minus sign (-) in the space next to posture.  And I have done so, many times.  Use some common sense.  It's your performance; it's your responsibility to make it your best, not the judge's.

     As for the difficulty of the piece, judges at Kansas events are generally told not to comment on the choice of music, which covers everything from the grade level of the piece to taking cuts, even the style of the piece.  Technically, you could play "The Star-Spangled Banner" or "Mary Had A Little Lamb," and I would have to rate you on how you played, not what you played.  But be assured -- if you miss a note or two in "Mary," play out of tune in the national anthem, or fail to play any dynamics, I am perfectly justified in giving you a II or even a III rating.  Playing a super-easy or super-hard piece will NOT automatically result in a I rating!  I'm only impressed by you playing the Chaminade Concertino if you play it in its entirety and up to tempo.  And if you can't hold out the opening high D in the 1st movement of the Mozart D Major Concerto for the full 16 1/2 counts without going flat, then you probably shouldn't be playing that piece.  It's as simple as that.  It's a little too late this year, but here's a word of advice for next year:  Choose a piece that emphasizes your strengths, not one that exposes your weaknesses.  

     Judging music festivals is a thankless job.  It's a long and tiring day, and it doesn't pay very well.  Those of us who continue to judge year after year do so because we enjoy hearing young musicians perform, and we genuinely want to help them improve and develop.  Those are the same reasons so many of us teach private students and coach them through this annual rite of spring.  Luckily, I'm not judging this year!  I'm on a bit of a sabbatical from it, so I get to sit at home tomorrow and wait for the phone calls from my students telling me how they fared.  My work is done.  It's out of my hands now -- and in the judges'.  Boy, I sure hope some of my students end up in the 10% bracket -- or at least get to perform right after the lunch break when the judge is refreshed.  Maybe she'll be lenient with the student playing "Mary Had a Little Lamb" . . . as long as my student plays all the dynamics . . . like I coached her . . . 

    
    

"Supersize Bombshell" Needs a Reality Check

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