I own a $4,000 cello. It sits up in my teenage daughter’s room. For the rest of the school year, she will practice and play bits of classical music.
That music breaks up my day as I guide my kids through virtual school. Her playing starts and stops with notes missed. But when she’s in a groove, the music sings and I smile. It makes my world a better place or melodies found. This will be the last year she plays, and that cello will be another thing that has left in this pandemic.
I almost own a violin, too. I’ve got another year’s worth of payments. When my son, my other teenager in the house, plays his violin I smile. He’s gotten so much better in the three years that he’s played. I can recognize the songs, and it reminds me of how much he once enjoyed playing. How much both of them used to. But then virtual school came along and that was pretty much the end of their love of playing.
They are both taught online, sometimes. They are not graded by their effort that they put into the instrument, or the joy they get from playing. Instead, a computer program determines if the notes they play are good enough.
When they’re not, they are marked wrong. So, they practice and practice with no real instruction outside of a random video. Both my kids don’t know how to even vocalize what they are doing wrong when they play. The computer just tells them that they are not good enough. So, it looks like this will be the last year of instruments playing in my house.
To be sure, there is a lot to be upset about during the last year. For me, and many parents, it’s almost like we expect to be angry again. So much so that when something happens, we kind of throw it on the pile and wonder when the next shoe will drop. There are many things that my school system has done right, but this is not one of them. With both art and music, things that help their minds grow and explore, they have been reduced to rigid qualities and graded by algorithms.
My son has broken down in tears as he tries over and over again to get his fingers right only to have a program tell him he’s wrong. He’s been told he has to tune his instrument without being shown how. His older sister has tried to help him, but the string snapped. The fun he used to have in learning has been replaced anxiety.
And with his live classes, that are not scheduled and random, sometimes his orchestra class is held at the same time as his math class. He is being told he should skip math and attend music. The math teacher does not record her sessions. So he has to choose which teacher to disappoint. It’s an impossible choice for a thirteen-year-old, and one that I won’t let him make. My fingers hurt from all the emails I’ve had to send this year.
For my daughter, her cello was a way to socialize and find her tribe. She was excited about her first year of high school. In her class, music was the sound of friendship, but now that song is quiet. There are one on one meetings on occasion, but nothing consistent. Just more forms to fill out showing practice time and a computer logging 10-second videos to back up the timesheets. She has let me know that she will not continue with the cello.
It’s difficult as a parent to watch your kids struggle without the ability to help. I have catcher mitt hands with hotdog-sized fingers. I’m about as dexterous as a sledgehammer and my wife often remarks that when I type, it sounds like I’m trying to destroy the keyboard.
I have not the talent nor knowledge of music, but I love it. I love it for the way it fills my house with joy or with soft memories. I love it for the way it makes me feel when I see them play a difficult part and smile. I love when they learned the Emperor’s March from Star Wars and the laughter we had. But what I don’t love is to see that love of music wither and be replaced with my helpless encouragements.
Our kids have lost a lot this year. My daughter has missed out on her first year of high school. My son has missed expanding his friendships as he was finally going to a larger school. And now we are about to say goodbye to the cello and the violin.
I am hopeful that once this is all over, they’ll want to pick it up again one day. When A.I. doesn’t determine if they can play or not. That we would go with private lessons when it’s ok to be back in people’s houses. But for now, I’m not going to push it. It’s too raw for them and something fun has now become a chore to be avoided.
Until then, I’ll take my cello and violin and keep them safe. Maybe when they’re older they’ll love music again.
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