My Piano Teachers — Rethinking Education for Life
None of Them Is the Best, They Are Just in All Walks of Life
I had at least 6 piano teachers throughout my lifetime.
The first one I remember, is a mind reader. She taught me piano when I was really young, in a local town hall.
She once asked me to spell “there” and “three” in front of my parents. I had always confused these words as a kid, they just looks so similar. I wrote down “th” on the piece of paper she gave me, looked at the alphabets oddly, trying to figure out what would be the next one that fits. I scribbled another 2 “r”s on the paper, before I realized it was indeed a bit wrong. After that, she was like, “Yea, I know you are that type of person. You are …”
Then she spilled out the most accurate description of me ever.
…
Years later I was still trying to search for the “there” “three” personality test, despite knowing that if it ever exists it would not be more accurate than astrology. The age of information overload has once again disappointed me — I never found anything. The feeling that someone understood me, had never occurred again.
The second teacher that comes to my mind was a patient university student. I did not enjoy my lessons, and move around the room quite a lot. She would just let me do it when I wanted to. She moved on to become a journalist after graduation. I saw her on TV once, but never again.
As I start primary school, I had piano lessons in a community centre next to my school. My teacher is a young college student. Her piano skills is mostly mediocre, but I admit I had a nice time with her, since she is the most gorgeous teacher I had. She speaks the language of youngsters, is lenient to all my mistakes.
She decided to end her teaching career after she graduated, so here comes the fourth teacher.
I went to her flat for lessons. She lives alone, and has a separate music room, which is definitely a luxury in a city with sacred land. She insists that I am hitting on the piano keys wrongly. She asked me to first slap her hand, and then hold my arm up and turn my body, so that my hand land on hers. “In the first trial, you tried hard to hit my hand, in the second one, you unintentionally hit me. The second is the way to play piano.”
She is a teacher with strong opinion, she told me parents that she wasn’t satisfy with my performance every lesson, and I wasn’t happy with that. I stopped having lessons at her place after a month because I was too scared of her.
The next teacher is the best of all in terms of piano skills. On my first visit, I was warned that his piano has the hardest keys of all, and I definitely need time to be used to it. I found myself in an 80s old building, and a flat full of cats, and walls full of photo frames with international music awards.
He was an old man in his 60s. He hits the table every single beat with his stick, scribbles all over the music book with signs and highlights.
The last teacher that I had, was in a music centre that sells instruments as well as provides lessons. She is a middle-aged women teaching full-time. She doesn’t really care how I play, and only points out when I make an obvious mistake.
Despite not being a huge fan of the piano when I was younger, I was made to have lessons for a very long time. Having to interact with someone in a tiny room with black and white keys, same time each weekend, provides another perspective to life.
Probably I would not remember most of the pieces I played, but I will never forget how some of my teachers are passionate about music, and went on to pursuit it, how some of them were young and energetic, how some of them were strict, some of them were laid back… They all have their own styles, are they better than one and other? It’s hard to tell.
The best in playing might not be the best in teaching, the strictest scares people away and too lenient means you couldn’t learn much. Life is about a balance, but also making your own style.
None of them is the best, they are just in all walks of life.
I am lucky to have a lot of different teachers in my life.
