That will bring us back to Do(h!)

My beautiful Anarchist is six years old. My Anarchist loves to sing loudly, and exuberantly and without inhibition, the way six year olds do. She loves it more than anything else. Sometimes she sings so loudly, and joyfully, and freely that she gets a bit off-key. But that's okay, because she is learning to love music, and express herself through the medium. She's learning that music is joyful, and beautiful, and exhilarating. She's getting a sense of rhythm and phrasing. She's learning to fall in love with an art form. We love this, and we love that her lungs even work, so we don't mind if, now and then, she's just not hitting the pitch. We don't fuss, or fret, or point it out to her.

Apparently, that's the school's job:

Now, the Anarchist is six, so her vocal chords aren't completely developed. Neither are her defense mechanisms, so the child is extremely vulnerable and sensitive. But it turns out that, at six, her reading skills are rather well-developed, as is her natural sense of curiosity. So, too, is her awareness of what "matching pitch" means (she comes from an extended family of music educators). So I was more than a touch concerned when I realized that she had probably read this report card over my shoulder.

Now, I've heard enough horror stories from adults who were singled out as "pitchy" singers as very young children who now refuse to sing a note, ever, not even in the shower. Someone killed their joy very early on in life and now they won't even try. Silly me, I thought we left that style of music education in the fifties along with the angry, ruler-wielding nuns. Nope. Nope. The Anarchist got a "2" in singing because she can't match pitch. At six. 

If the child were sixteen, and singing in a high school choir class, I would certainly hope that someone would be working on matching pitch with her, would point it out and attempt to correct it, would indicate on a report card that she had yet to acquire that crucial skill. No one likes singing next to the misguided diva who thinks she is God's gift to singing, but doesn't bother to even try to hit the right notes. I certainly wouldn't want her to grow into one of those infamous American Idol first-episode auditionees. I don't want her to be oblivious or delusional...when she's an adult.  But, in case I've neglected to mention this:

The child is six. 

The Anarchist heads off to school to
be tested, graphed and analyzed...
on her singing ability?

Now, I'm not saying her teacher is singling her out in class, making her feel bad, causing her to hate singing. I imagine her teacher is probably rather sensitive and kind, and is simply working on this skill with the entire class, and maybe giving the Anarchist the attention she needs to develop a better sense of pitch. That would be fine. That would be lovely. But the report card thing...not so lovely. The report card thing gives rise to a variety of questions and concerns.

The report card thing makes me wonder if this is just another attempt to quantify/measure/assess certain aspects of childhood--heck, of life--that cannot and should not be quantified/measured/assessed. My children spend more time taking standardized tests than they do being creative, exploring, or learning to interact with one another. They are charted, graphed, and analyzed at every turn. But the really valuable things in life can't be measured this way. And music and art, I had hoped, were the last bastions of creativity and non-standardized humanity in an increasingly statistics-saturated/test-centered school system. I had hoped. But why are they bothering to report (and why do they care to tell me) that the Anarchist is singing out of tune unless they are intentionally measuring or testing for such a thing...unless the schools are required to report some tangible outcome to legitimize the existence of a music class in the first place. With music programs being cut from schools left and right (congratulations, Lansing, you're famous for this, now), I wouldn't be shocked to discover if my Anarchist's teacher was required  to assess and report such a thing, just to justify the very presence of music in schools.*

Or maybe it's like the time the Dictator's kindergarten teacher suggested hand-writing camp (I kid you not, it's like boot camp only way, way, more lame) because her letters were a bit squiggly...because she was, ya know, five. Maybe our school has the time and resources to afford to be unnaturally nitpicky and ambitious. Maybe.


The report card thing also makes me wonder if the music program's priorities are quite right. I understand as well as anyone that singing is a nuanced skill that can be taught, but takes practice, hard work, and coaching. I get that my daughter should be learning to develop basic musical skills. But I also know that, unless I'm trying to create a virtuoso or thrust her into the children's chorus of an opera, I should let this take a natural amount of time. I should not be concerned that the skill isn't coming quickly enough. She's six. Of course she doesn't always sing in tune. This is the age where children learn to love and embrace the art form...where they become enchanted by, and engaged with its depth and richness, by its exciting variety.** Why does her teacher not report about her joy and love for singing? About her eagerness to participate in music class? Why not focus on the things that won't alter drastically in six years when her voice does?

More than anything else, I'm concerned about the report card because my Anarchist is six, my Anarchist is sensitive, and my Anarchist can read. If she saw what I think she saw, I will be very surprised if she doesn't go the way of the traumatized adults who keep their mouths clamped shut during the music at church, who won't sing in the shower, who don't find freedom and joy in singing. And (I'm sure I'm being a bit sensitive here...you don't hear me complaining that she got a "2" in math***) that would kill me.

Because her lungs work. And she uses them. And she uses music to experience joy. And she's six. 

So that's what it should be all about.


(This has been a melodramatic rant-fest by the daughter of disgruntled arts educators. She may be taking this a touch too seriously. But she loves the arts, hates all this testing nonsense, and is maybe just a little bit protective of her children's feelings. Their feelings. Not their physical selves. She lets their physical selves dive off of bunk beds, get into wrestling matches, ski down the stairs, and eat pennies. The Anarchist once ate half a bottle of sunscreen before she noticed. But their emotions? Yeah. That's when she gets all helicopter-mom.)

*Or maybe the Anarchist is just singing so loudly, and so out-of-tune, that the poor music teacher just can't take it any more and is reaching out to me, begging, pleading for me to please do something at home to help make the bad noises stop. This is a very real possibility. And one that I'm prepared to brazenly ignore.

**I'm not suggesting that my elementary school education was much better. We mostly spent the entire hour of music class watching, horrified, as our teacher spun in unattractive circles, clapping, and loudly crowing such classic hits as "La Cucharacha" and "Old Dan Tucker." But at least no one felt the need to tell our parents that we couldn't sing. Ahh...the good old days.

***Although, math actually is something that is easily quantified and measured. Because it's...uh...math.