It’s the Anxiety, Stupid

Not so many generations ago, fiddlers in particular and musicians in general, were considered to be time wasters of the worst sort. Idle hands were the devil’s playthings; those hands on musical instruments were the least productive. Music was considered the “gateway drug” to alcohol, dissolution and shame.

Today, frantic parents go to war with their nine year-olds over piano practice. It would be difficult to overstate the level of animosity and arguing regarding practice time. Bribes and punishments, threats and rewards, coercion and incentives are handed out like M&M candies and electric shocks. To what purpose? Do YOU know any employed musicians?

Neither do I.

OK, I take that back. There’s that nice trumpet player around the corner–great musician, great dad, all around good guy. What I meant to say was, “Do you know any happily employed musicians who were forced to play music by overbearing parents?” Do you know any successful musicians who were coerced into a career in music even though they had neither aptitude nor affection for the discipline? Of course not.

If you are, gentle reader, a musician, try to imagine your life without your instrument, your friends with whom you love to play music, your study of that which you love.

And if you are tone deaf with clunky fingers and leaden hands, envision being forced to play.

Neither of these scenarios is imaginable let alone feasible. Musicians have to play music. Non musicians can’t and don’t.

Parents can model a love of music; parents can encourage; parents can push their children, gently, toward music. Parents can make good musicians better. But when the household is held hostage to arguments about the number of times a scale has been practiced, it’s time to bring the baby back inside. Bathwater optional.

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Go out and play! Come in and study!

Stay awake and do your homework! Go to bed, you’re not getting enough rest!

Study your trigonometry! Stop studying trigonometry!

Stop learning this! It’s time to learn that!

What if the proverbial “none of the above” is the right answer to all these mindless exhortations? What if allowing children to find their own way–even if they stumble now and again along the path–is the only way to help them grow up happy, content, and on the way to what Maslow called “self-actualized”?

Love the kids you get and you’ll get the kids you’ll love.

Rather than forcing non-musical kids to play music, rather than forcing musical kids to give up music, maybe parents should find their children where they are. Maybe the medium is indeed the message. Maybe kids don’t hear “play trombone” or “don’t play trombone.” Maybe all kids hear is “Don’t be who you are.” Maybe the only agenda that comes through is “I’m anxious and uncomfortable in my own skin and you should be too.”

I await incoming.