December 14, 2008

Evelyn Gets Me

Her name is Evelyn. She is an imposing woman of 91, royalty incarnate, a glorious diva from the golden age of singing. She is funny, serious, and intense, gently piercing my face with her gaze as she watches me vocalize in my lesson. She is at once earthy and heaven sent, knowing the science and art of the voice like no other. I studied with her for 2 months before learning she had made some CDs of her live performances in the 50s, 60,s and 70s. It is one thing to study with a master teacher. It is quite another to hear that teacher as an artist. I was not prepared for the startling, warm beauty of her sound and her natural ownership of everything she performed. There was no ego, but a pure passion that enveloped the room in sumptuous, velvety phrases. She still sings in her 90s, and the sound is nearly as perfect as it was in years gone by. I’m simply crazy about her.

I’ve been embarrassed for years about walking away from a singing career. Once you stop singing, the voice forgets what to do and the sounds you used to make are no longer there. It’s a kind of death whose life you only hold in memory. You tell yourself that you don’t care, but you really do. You make fun of yourself when you make an effort and don’t recognize what comes out. You become defensive, vulnerable with this quivering Achilles heel of an ache that trips a feedback loop. You stop trying because no matter what you do, it doesn’t work. You entrust yourself to a teacher who is supposed to know how to help you. Months go by. Nothing gets much better. Parts of yourself and your hopes go in storage in order to protect yourself. The older we get, the harder it is to expose what we don’t know, and to give ourselves over to someone who tells us what to do and expects us to do it. When the guts of who you are are not at stake, it is easier. But when it is the raw You, stripped of pretense, the fragility of the attempt glistens with the multicolored iridescence of a Tiffany lamp. Nakedness requires a Trust that the person will not hurt you under any circumstances. Somehow, Evelyn understands. I’m not a commodity to her. She cared about me, and she believed I could sing again. She has been stern and patient and consistent and creative. She sees right through me. She gets me. She understands my quirkiness and my limits. Yesterday, after three months with her, she said, “Let’s sing a song.” And I did.

Evelyn as teacher and me as student reminds me of all of the children in special education over the years. She is that magic person who connects with the whole child. She integrates her science and art of singing into a way of explaining and showing that makes sense. She is the role model for determination and courage. And she doesn’t just talk about it. She can do it- spectacularly. I am the disabled kid who hides the disability behind all kinds of masks, the one who can’t decode and is the discipline problem, the one who is quiet and never talks, the one who refuses to go to school. They have given up trying and do not trust their teachers anymore. They go through the motions, but keep that vulnerable part of them in a safe place, not to be touched because it will hurt too much. At this moment there are millions of those children and young adults who want to be more than a product for sale, more than a box to be checked on the attendance sheet for state reimbursement. They want a teacher to care enough about them to figure out a way to help them- no strategies, no accommodations- but a way of teaching that imparts a permanent skill to use in life. They want to be seen and enjoyed for who they are.

This morning I had my last student before stopping for the holiday break. She is the three year old who came in with an autistic label and said to be without language. She is the one who did not have a Pre-K placement when she left early intervention last July because the district insisted she should be in a self-contained class of autistic children. Finally she was placed in a superb school with an emphasis on sensory integration and on the needs of very bright young children. She is no longer diagnosed as autistic because we found a neurologist who knew what he was looking at. She has problems for sure, but she gets better each week. It has taken many weeks to gain her trust. Today we were in the story corner and she took out a book, “Do you want me to read the story to you?” I opened the book and started to read, asking her to turn the page. The first word on the next page was “wonderful”. She said, without missing a beat, “wonderful”. I froze for a minute and then asked her if she was reading a word. She pointed to it. And then she proceeded to read the rest of the book to me. Though her parents had told me she could read some words, they never told me she could actually read a book. I asked her some questions about the story. She grinned and pointed to pictures for the answers. She was playing with me alright, and in a big way. Today was her breakthrough and it was clear that she trusted me enough to share her biggest, most intimate secret- she could read! It has been a long haul with this youngster, but today I was her Evelyn. I will never be able to do what Evelyn does. But for today, this three year old looked at me, eyes glistening, and sang her heart out. What a joyous way to end 2008.