There's no hurry

Small hands aren’t a problem, but it still takes what it takes. (Image by Andreas Lischka from Pixabay)

Every aspiring classical pianist wants to learn to play Beethoven’s “Für Elise.” Some two hundred years after its composition, it’s still irresistible. And the good news is that the well-known theme is very simple. The harmony consists of only four chords, meaning that it can be taught by rote. The hands don’t play together very much — they just overlap. In other words, you can show someone how to play it even if they don’t read music and don’t have a lot of experience.

What many people don’t realize is that “Für Elise” has two other themes that are lesser known than the iconic A-section. There’s a majestic, pastoral F-major theme and a dark, intense theme in D-minor (both of these classic Beethoven). There’s also some fancy piano work — a good opportunity for an early intermediate student to show off some fast runs.

In other words, these other parts are not for beginners.

I taught the A-section to a six-year-old — a confident, fast-learning, extroverted child whose mom had let her choose between me and the traditional Russian teacher at least two decades my senior. The mom clearly would not have made the same choice — we were probably doomed from the start.

Anyway, the child, Jessica, learned the A-section beautifully as a standalone piece. Then she insisted that she be taught the rest of “Für Elise.” I gently demurred, suggesting that we learn it in the future. After all, we were just a few months in. Jessica only knew how to read a few notes on the staff — it would be a huge undertaking to teach the other sections by rote, since they were much denser, had virtually no repetition, and much more sophisticated harmony. Moreover, she was just beginning to build the dexterity and finger strength that would be necessary for the more demanding and complex sections of the piece. There was plenty of time to work on it later.

This turned out to be a dealbreaker for mom and kid. We had a few more lessons, but Jessica’s mom moved her to another teacher just a few weeks later. And though Jessica became an excellent tennis player, she did not continue with piano for much longer.

We love triumphant stories. Even more, we love stories in which people triumph after everyone said, “It couldn’t be done.” We especially love the stories where some teacher said, “This is too hard for you,” and the person went on to great success. The scrappy underdog, beating the odds.

However, the stories of failure aren’t told. Nobody likes the stories where the teacher was right. I can’t even think of one that exists. But there are far, far more stories of failure. And pushing someone too far, too fast is all too common and very risky.

Another story from my early days as a piano teacher: Another six-year-old, Zoë, was a few lessons in when I introduced flashcards for learning the notes on the staff. We were working on ten of them (one for each finger). I carefully separated these ten from the rest of the flashcard deck and instructed Zoë and her dad to practice only these.

Well, the following week when they came back, Zoë’s dad cheerfully informed me that they had practiced the entire deck — all 72 cards. Zoë looked like she had just eaten a giant steak dinner against her will. The practice they had done could only have been grueling. The light had gone out of her eyes, and they quit lessons a week or two later.

Listen, I have an unconditional belief in my students’ ability to learn, grow, and improve. I am the last person to doubt that someone can transform quickly when the opportunity presents itself, and I don’t want to hold anyone back from going where they want to go. But rapid progress is very different from rushed progress. Just watch an episode of The Great British Baking Show if you want to see what happens when you don’t have enough time to properly proof your dough. You’ll have to compromise somewhere, and the stress is no picnic. I don’t want to do that to a six-year-old, especially when her main motivation is to please the adults around her.

As I’ve progressed in my career, the less I hurry. With maturity, I have grown more patient with myself, my students — and with their parents. Perhaps now, I’d be better able to convey to these well-meaning parents my plan for their child instead of allowing them to come away believing that I was deliberately holding their child back from being successful.

I’m not always going to get it right. Some students are ready to make dramatic leaps and it will work out fine for them. But I am more comfortable erring on the side of gentle, steady progress with a strong foundation. There’s no hurry.