| General Non-Fiction posted April 21, 2019 | Chapters: |
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The dancing part of my career comes to an end
A chapter in the book Lessons in the Key of Life
Finale, Act One
by Rachelle Allen
A look at my history, and it couldn't be all that surprising that my segue from teaching nursery school and dance to teaching piano, flute and voice came about completely by chance.
One of my original nursery school moms had enrolled her children, now older, in the JCC summer performing arts program. Near the end of camp one day, she saw me working with one of her daughters on a vocal solo for the show.
"Shelley! You sing and play piano?" she asked, flabbergasted.
"Yes, that was what I majored in in college," I told her. "I just did Dance for fun."
"Do you give lessons?" she asked, her voice full of hope.
"Well, I don't, but I certainly could," I conceded.
"This is absolutely incredible," she said. "Just this very morning three of my neighbors and I were sitting at my kitchen table and saying how great it would be if we could find a really NICE piano teacher --one who loved kids and was fun and not so strict that they hated lessons, but who could make them be good at music. And one of us even said, 'Hey, as long as we're fantasizing here, wouldn't it also be great if she came to each of our houses instead of us having to go to hers?'"
She looked me square in the eyes. "If you ever decide to change careers, Shelley, you'd have our ten kids as your students right off the bat."
I humored her with a smile and a pleasant laugh before saying, "Alright, thanks!" and went on my way. But before I even reached the parking lot, I knew what had just happened: That was opportunity knocking.
The semester before summer camp had begun, I'd sensed a change in the way the Powers-That-Be at the JCC were dealing with teachers. Our creativity was being squelched more and more, and we were constantly being 'advised' by non-educators on how to run our classrooms more efficiently.
At first, I told myself to stop being so spoiled --that no one's job is perfect. I needed to buck up and deal with the changes. The positives still outweighed the negatives by far.
But then, as the semester progressed, the higher-ups began wanting to change me. I should be less effusive and more understated when dealing with parents, they said. They strongly suggested I teach more technique and maybe fewer actual dance routines in my classes (to the pre-schoolers?! Good grief!). And, finally, they wanted me to increase the size of my classes to accommodate more members. I put my foot down with that one. Nine three-year-olds at a time was perfect, I told them, and ditto for twelve four- and five-year olds per class.
Fortunately, because I was teaching fifteen pre-school dance classes and a like number of school-age dance classes per week, I had the fiscal clout to stand my ground. But I knew I'd put myself in their cross-hairs by not capitulating and that that was going to be a problem in no time.
I had two choices: I could start another school year teaching dance at the JCC, chafing under the scrutiny of non-teachers who knew nothing about the way to run a joyous, successful class. Or I could take a leap of faith in myself and teach the way I knew was best.
Before camp began the next morning, I sought out the mom I'd spoken with the previous afternoon and said, "I'd love to teach voice and piano lessons to your girls, and to your neighbors' children, as well. And I'll do it in each of your homes."
She was so elated, she squealed, then jumped up and down, and hugged me.
Even with such hoopla and positive reinforcement, the realization was bittersweet: It was time to trade in my dance shoes for a keyboard again and return to my roots.
Rose, always in my corner, let me send a flier home with our eighty campers, and, three weeks later, when the new school year began, I had fifteen students. By January, it had mushroomed to twenty-five, and by the following September, the roster had swelled to forty.
Lesson: There is no end to the vehicles available to transport us to new adventures. Test-driving as many as possible keeps life fun and challenging.
NEXT: Act Two: Voice, Flute, and Piano Lessons
One of my original nursery school moms had enrolled her children, now older, in the JCC summer performing arts program. Near the end of camp one day, she saw me working with one of her daughters on a vocal solo for the show.
"Shelley! You sing and play piano?" she asked, flabbergasted.
"Yes, that was what I majored in in college," I told her. "I just did Dance for fun."
"Do you give lessons?" she asked, her voice full of hope.
"Well, I don't, but I certainly could," I conceded.
"This is absolutely incredible," she said. "Just this very morning three of my neighbors and I were sitting at my kitchen table and saying how great it would be if we could find a really NICE piano teacher --one who loved kids and was fun and not so strict that they hated lessons, but who could make them be good at music. And one of us even said, 'Hey, as long as we're fantasizing here, wouldn't it also be great if she came to each of our houses instead of us having to go to hers?'"
She looked me square in the eyes. "If you ever decide to change careers, Shelley, you'd have our ten kids as your students right off the bat."
I humored her with a smile and a pleasant laugh before saying, "Alright, thanks!" and went on my way. But before I even reached the parking lot, I knew what had just happened: That was opportunity knocking.
The semester before summer camp had begun, I'd sensed a change in the way the Powers-That-Be at the JCC were dealing with teachers. Our creativity was being squelched more and more, and we were constantly being 'advised' by non-educators on how to run our classrooms more efficiently.
At first, I told myself to stop being so spoiled --that no one's job is perfect. I needed to buck up and deal with the changes. The positives still outweighed the negatives by far.
But then, as the semester progressed, the higher-ups began wanting to change me. I should be less effusive and more understated when dealing with parents, they said. They strongly suggested I teach more technique and maybe fewer actual dance routines in my classes (to the pre-schoolers?! Good grief!). And, finally, they wanted me to increase the size of my classes to accommodate more members. I put my foot down with that one. Nine three-year-olds at a time was perfect, I told them, and ditto for twelve four- and five-year olds per class.
Fortunately, because I was teaching fifteen pre-school dance classes and a like number of school-age dance classes per week, I had the fiscal clout to stand my ground. But I knew I'd put myself in their cross-hairs by not capitulating and that that was going to be a problem in no time.
I had two choices: I could start another school year teaching dance at the JCC, chafing under the scrutiny of non-teachers who knew nothing about the way to run a joyous, successful class. Or I could take a leap of faith in myself and teach the way I knew was best.
Before camp began the next morning, I sought out the mom I'd spoken with the previous afternoon and said, "I'd love to teach voice and piano lessons to your girls, and to your neighbors' children, as well. And I'll do it in each of your homes."
She was so elated, she squealed, then jumped up and down, and hugged me.
Even with such hoopla and positive reinforcement, the realization was bittersweet: It was time to trade in my dance shoes for a keyboard again and return to my roots.
Rose, always in my corner, let me send a flier home with our eighty campers, and, three weeks later, when the new school year began, I had fifteen students. By January, it had mushroomed to twenty-five, and by the following September, the roster had swelled to forty.
Lesson: There is no end to the vehicles available to transport us to new adventures. Test-driving as many as possible keeps life fun and challenging.
NEXT: Act Two: Voice, Flute, and Piano Lessons
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