Simpler = Better

Well, maybe not always, but certainly when you're trying to run a business on the side without too many headaches.  Here are three policies I've adopted recently, which have helped my piano lessons to run more smoothly:

1) Make payments simple. After years of calendar headaches, I now plan out the school year so that there are 9 months in the year and 36 lessons.  (Some months have more than four weeks; some have fewer, because of holidays when I don't teach.)  At the beginning of each month, families pay me for four lessons.  They always forget how much they owe me, but now I can tell them immediately, because it never changes.

2) Keep your calendar in front of you. I started doing this one summer, when lesson times were so erratic I had trouble keeping track: I just printed and copied my weekly schedule so I could change it at a glance.  Now I do it during the fall and spring, too.  It makes it easier if someone says they'll be gone the following week, and I have one designated place to keep notes if someone calls and wants to change times.

3) Review. Since I can never remember when I have last heard a piece, I recently made a rule that I will hear every piece in every student's repertoire at the first lesson of the month.  This reduces the chance that a piece will slip away because I've forgotten to ask for it.  Musically, of course, review is one of the best ways to encourage a student; it shows her how much she's accomplished.

You know a system is good when you're constantly asking yourself, "WHY didn't I do this sooner?!"  Well, at least I'm doing it now!

Lesson Time Roulette

Every year, I ask my piano parents to get back to me with their preferred lesson times by mid-August so that I can make up the schedule.  It comes together like a charm.  I print copies and mail them out.  Then I can start counting, "One Mississippi, two Mississippi," and by the time I reach five, the phone is ringing.  This is where the fun starts!

"George wants to play badminton, and his practice is at the same time as his lesson.  Can we switch?"  One week later: "George didn't make the badminton team but now wants to be on the stage crew, which is the same time as his new lesson time.  Can we switch back?"

"Kayla has soccer on Tuesdays."  "No, wait, on Wednesdays."  "No, wait, on Tuesdays, but the games are Wednesday in the afternoon, so we can still have a lesson in the evening.  Can you fit us in then?"

"Jeffrey is really no good in the evenings.  Can he come in the afternoon?"  "Amy is a wreck right after school; can she come in the evening?"  "James has to have a snack before working, so if we stop at Chik-Fil-A on the way, we should be able to be at your house by 4:45, and I don't want to waste any time, so can we start then?"

To be fair, most of these parents are innocent; the tyranny of organized sports is mostly to blame.  But sometimes the excuses can be pretty draining.  So far, this year my favorite has been, "I have a full-time job, so I'm really busy."  John Cleese says the appropriate response here is to "wait for a suitable pause, and then applaud enthusiastically."  I confess I was too incredulous to even do that.  A full-time JOB?!  You mean, you don't just sit around all day?  Why that's . . . exactly the same responsibility held by every other contributing member of society!

One of the smartest things I ever did was to stop printing and mailing my schedule.  Now I just e-mail it out.  So when someone calls with a change, I take a calming breath and wait for the wheel to stop turning, thinking frantically, "No whammies . . . "

The Dotted Line

Over the years, I've had a lot of trouble with students and parents who don't seem to understand that learning to play the piano takes work.  You have to drive to the teacher's house.  (One of the worst mistakes I ever made was trying to transition from going to students' houses: most of them quit right off the bat, a few hung around and complained about the driving time and then quit, and only two actually stuck with me, uncomplaining, to the present.)  You have to practice.  And in Suzuki, you have to listen to the recording regularly if you want to reap the benefits of an ear-training method.

Rob has owned his own business, a small architectural practice, for longer than I have owned mine.  So when he offers advice, I try to forget that he's my husband (you know, the one who's always wrong) and listen.  By far, the best advice he's ever given me is that if I want to hold someone to a verbal agreement, I need to put it in writing.

My SAT students are all short-term, so I operate with a service agreement there, and no one has a problem with it; in fact, most are impressed that I took the time to write up a contract, and it's cleared up many disputes about payment and appointment times.

My piano students, however, seemed to always have the same administrative problems.  They wanted to reschedule for illness or other plans; I don't offer makeup lessons.  With enough advance notice, I can credit them for the following summer, but changing lesson times really messes me up, and I've found they cancel far less often with this policy.)  They forgot to pay me on time or paid the wrong amount;  after years of trying to remember everyone's balance, I finally went to a simple system of paying for 4 weeks each month, regardless of the number of calendar weeks.  (Since there are 9 months and 36 weeks in the year, it evens out.)  They didn't practice or listen enough, and they wondered why they weren't improving faster.

Last year I had the idea to put together a contract for each parent to sign.  It consisted of seven or eight simple bullet-points of information, things people were always forgetting.  But something still wasn't right.  Why should all the responsibility for the lessons rest on the parents?  God knows they have enough to do!

This year, my contract is three columns: one for the parent, one for the teacher, and one for the student.  This corresponds closely to the idea of the Suzuki Triangle, which is a fundamental tenet of the method.  Each point on the contract relates to all three parties: for example, the parent promises to take notes at the lessons, the teacher promises to check them and to give clear instructions, and the student promises to work together with the parent at home to see that practicing happens the way it's supposed to.

We'll be discussing and signing the contracts next week.  I don't know whether it will make a difference, but then, I never do.  The thing is to try.

Outsmarting Amazon

As a teacher, I frequently have to buy materials from Amazon.  And it seems that no matter what I do, the total comes to a dollar (or even less) short of the amount needed for free shipping.

I wish they had a "round up" option.  (This is what I do when a store won't accept my credit card payment for being under the minimum amount.)  But they don't, so I am forced to scroll through the Bargain Books section in search of one that won't embarrass the rest of my library.

NO MORE!  I just found this wonderful site, which lists "filler items" starting with the lowest price (currently, 42 cents.)  Do you need a glue stick?  A guitar string?  A light bulb?  It's your lucky day.

The other thing to do is look for Dover items.  They have Thrift Editions of most books, starting at $1.00 for poetry and short stories.  They also sell Activity Books (mazes, stickers, dot-to-dot) and even blank notebooks that are surprisingly pretty for $1.50.

Score one for the little guy!

No-Show

I hate to follow a week of no posting with a largely negative piece.  However, this subject is what is foremost in my mind right now (other than my run-ins with the TSA this weekend over a pair of kitchen shears . . . hold on while I take a couple of calming breaths.  Okay.)

Working for yourself is one of the greatest things in the world.  You set the hours, you set the pay rate, you call the shots.  You get to do what you love when it's convenient for you.  It's delightful.

There are, of course, problems.  99 percent of those are money-related.  Because you don't have a front office or secretary, people feel free to argue with you as to why they don't owe you (or owe you that much) for your services.

Most of you know that in addition to teaching lessons, I also teach and tutor at a school, work for my church and attend grad classes.  I divide 40-50 hours between those four venues, and I count myself lucky; many teachers' hours are far more grueling.  I keep busy, though, so when people don't show up for appointments, it bugs me.

Last week, most students had off school for Memorial Day.  They know I teach on Memorial Day (I can't afford to take off for every government holiday!)  But for whatever reason, three families forgot.  Three in a row, no call, no show.  If you've never experienced this, it's difficult to describe the feeling: you bounce between worry and sympathy (maybe traffic's bad; maybe something terrible happened) and resentment (I hope they're having fun while I'm waiting for them!)  You're reluctant to start a project, because you think they might walk in the door at any moment.  So take all that, multiply it by two hours, and add the frustration of knowing my family is gathered and waiting for me at my parents' house; I told them I would be late, because I had lessons.  And I had to stick around until it was clear the last person wasn't going to come (about halfway through the lesson is when I usually give up.)

The next day, I received a very nice and apologetic e-mail from one mother.  I e-mailed the other two parents (again, a little concerned, and giving them the benefit of the doubt.)  One wrote back to say he was sorry and that he'd just forgotten, but I don't know whether he would have written if I hadn't written him, you know?  And the other wrote with no apology, just an explanation (she'd forgotten) and a request to make up the lesson as soon as possible.  I said no, of course.  I never do makeups for no-shows.  In fact, this is why I instituted an eight-hour cancellation policy; many times parents would e-mail or leave a message minutes before the start of the lesson, and I wouldn't receive it until hours later.  In the years since I adopted this, I've found people cancel much less often, which is in everyone's best interest.

My mom, who has taught piano for almost as long as I've been alive, has had far fewer problems with this.  I think a lot of it is due to the fact that, with no kids and little life experience, people just don't take me as seriously.  This is sad, but there's not much I can do about it.  Also, another part of me sees it as part of a widespread phenomenon that is more and more common: lack of follow-through.

Okay, I know every generation thinks the next one is going you-know-where in a you-know-what.  But this is different.  In all my years of dating, I've never had a guy make plans and then just fail to show up -- but my single girlfriends tell me this is common, and not just among obvious jerks.  Whenever Rob and I throw a party, we can count on approximately 10% of the "YES" responses to just not show.  This held true even for our wedding of several hundred guests.  Many of those people never apologized or offered any explanation, either.

During the AP Exams in May, there was a lot of buzz over a student who had walked out during the initial orientation (filling out name, address, etc.) and never returned to take the test.  I know the student, so and I asked her one day what had happened.  "I thought I wouldn't do well, and I just didn't feel like taking it," she said.  The school had gone into a frenzy, calling her house and both parents at work, grilling her friends, at the point of calling the police, when she finally answered her cell phone.  Why, I wondered, hadn't she told anyone she was leaving?  "I didn't want them to bug me about it," she said.

She was in for an unpleasant surprise: since she had skipped the AP Exam, which exempts students from the final, the school ruled she had to take a final exam instead.  Her teacher (a friend of mine) admitted to making the test pretty difficult.  He was at his wits' end, too, confused about what would cause a student who had prepared for an entire academic year to blow off the last day, especially when her parents had already paid close to a hundred dollars to take the exam. I told him I had seen that attitude a lot, and not just among her age group.  It's my life.  I don't owe you anything.

Is the problem getting worse?  Sure seems like it to me.  What do you think?

I Heart Apple

No, not the Big Apple, although I heart that, too.  I'm talking about the computer company.  And yes, my aunt is a senior executive there, so that may make me a little biased.  But the truth is, Rob and I are relatively recent converts.  We bought our first Mac, a laptop, two and a half years ago.  Last December, it was stolen, but by that time we had purchased a desktop as well.  Yes, it's sleek and sexy and looks much nicer than a TV, so we didn't mind getting rid of ours to make room.  But it also works perfectly.

Okay, so the hard drive failed last week.  This was our first computer problem since converting to Apple products.  But here's the upside:

• We got to call Customer Service. Yes, I know, this is usually equated with "We got to spend a week in purgatory."  But when I call AppleCare, I almost always end up in a friendly conversation with the representative.  They're real people who speak English and take a genuine (or genuinely faked) interest in your case.  And more importantly, THEY CAN HELP YOU.  I even call them about small problems, like "I can't figure out how to burn this DVD properly."  They'll talk you through each step without putting you on hold, treating you with contempt or trying to sell you something.  When you realize all of this, $150 is a small price to pay for the extended warranty, which gives you three years of unlimited quality service on your machine.

• They replaced the drive for free. No questions asked.  We didn't have to give them a credit card number "just in case."  They didn't try to charge us for labor or shipping.  We didn't have to wait in line.  We just brought the computer in.

• Everyone is honest, at least everyone I've met. Case in point: while putting the computer back together, they accidentally dropped and broke the monitor glass.  They immediately called me at home (around 10 PM, an hour after the store closed) to apologize and say they would order a replacement immediately.  Apologize, people, with no excuses: just "We feel really stupid about this, and we're so sorry."  I felt like I had traveled back in time to the period when (so my grandparents say) the customer was always right, and the shopkeeper was humbly mindful of this fact.

• We didn't lose anything. Apple comes with a program called Time Machine, which is effortless: you plug in an external hard drive, which backs up every hour, day, week and month.  You can "travel back in time" to retrieve something you accidentally deleted, and if you have to replace your hard drive or your computer, just plug in the external drive and everything is transferred automatically.

We had to do without a computer for a week: that's life.  When I confessed to one Tech Support agent that I was experiencing symptoms of withdrawal, he responded, "Wow, I honestly don't know what that's like.  I'm a Tech Support agent, so I always have a working computer."

"Oh," I said.  "So, when your computer has problems, do you call yourself up and put yourself on hold?"  We both laughed, and then I asked him one of my all-time favorite questions for anyone in the retail or service industry: what's the dumbest thing anyone's ever asked you?

Well, he said, this question is pretty common: before the agent can help you, he needs to know the serial number of the computer, which is printed on the bottom of the monitor.  After sharing this information, he said, most people respond: "Do I have to pick it up?"

Privacy Policy

Don't you hate these things?  Every other bank statement we receive has one tucked inside.  I know it's probably important, but I usually just throw it in the recycle bin unread . . .

Most of you who know me well have probably already figured this out, but I thought I'd be clear about it.  All student names in this blog are fictitious, as are most of my friends' names.  The one exception is anyone who also has a blog; I figure privacy isn't as important to them!  On occasion I will also change identifying details, like gender or hair color.  I've never been good at writing fiction, so I don't enjoy doing this, but some of the kids are quite young, everyone knows where I live or could find out easily, and I want to protect my students' anonymity.  Also, some of my friends are CIA or Special-Ops, and I don't want to risk exposing them.  (Now you'll never know if that's true.  Did I make it up to protect them, or because it gives this site a dangerous and exotic ambience?  You'll never know. But it's probably best to stay on my good side.)

So, Tell Me a Little About Yourself.

If you've ever sat for an interview and heard these words, you know well the kind of fear they inspire.  Rightly so.  Where in the world should you start?  Talk about your professional goals, to show how driven you are?  Make a joke about your favorite TV show, to make yourself seem approachable and human?  Mention your family and friends, to display your loyalty?

This is exactly the reason I force all of my high school juniors to undergo an interview.  They are horribly nervous.  Professional attitudes are so rare today that few of them know how to properly execute a handshake, dress nicely but modestly, and speak about themselves with confidence and positivity.  We work on all of those things, but by far the toughest area is the dreaded Open Question.  "What do you admire most about yourself?"  "How do you approach problems?"  "What do you think is most important?"  Without the chance to brainstorm, outline, write and revise (as they would in the case of an essay question), they panic.

So, the first activity we do in preparation for the interview is a questionnaire meant to evaluate their personal strengths.  They love to write about themselves. (I wouldn't be surprised if a watered-down version of this handout were floating around on Facebook somewhere.)  The difficult part is to get them to see their answers from an interviewer's perspective.  You like to go on vacation?  Could you rephrase that as "I like to travel," or better yet, "I like to explore?"  Can you see why one answer would be preferable to the other, while all three remain true?

Before I hand out the list of questions, we do a few samples together.  I tell them to make a list of all the things they're good at, everything from studying for tests to organizing the refrigerator.  Then I have them pick their top five.  They pair up with another student and talk about what these things say about them, and from there they select their top three.  Then they share one of those top three with the whole class, including a brief explanation of what they think it says about them.  In this way, they can compare notes and gather ideas from their classmates in a non-threatening way.  After modeling that process several times, I give them the full list of questions, ignore the groans and tell them to take their time and give me thoughtful, complete answers.

You want to see the whole list, don't you?  Oh, fine.  Here it is, adapted from The Truth About Getting In (Chapter 6: "Selling Yourself") by Dr. Katherine Cohen:


1.    Of all the things you do, both in and out of school, which three do you feel you do the best?  What makes you feel you are good at these things?

2.    Of all the things you do, both in and out of school, which three do you enjoy the most?  (Your answers should differ at least slightly from the first question.)

3.    Which three experiences have had the greatest impact on your life?  What made them significant?

4.    Which three strengths have helped you to succeed in school?

5.    Describe one weakness that has hindered your success in school.

6.    Which three strengths have helped you to get along with other people and develop good relationships?

7.    Describe one weakness that has made social relationships difficult.

8.    Which three strengths have helped you succeed in extracurricular activities (sports, theater, student government, etc.)?

9.    Describe one weakness that has hindered your success in extracurricular activities.

10.    Which three adjectives would you use to describe the strengths and weaknesses in your character?

11.    Which three adjectives would others in your life (best friend, boyfriend, siblings, parents, etc.) use to describe the strengths and weaknesses in your character?

12.    Describe a typical weekday.  (Don’t just list events; talk about what types of things you give the highest priority.)

13.    Describe a typical weekend.  (Again, use this as an opportunity to talk about you.)

14.    Describe a major challenge, problem, obstacle or failure.  How did you overcome or solve the situation?

15.    In your opinion, what are the most important things in life?  What makes you think this?

16.    What makes you unique among your peers, or what do you feel these questions have not given you the opportunity to express?

What do you think of a person . . .

Who only does the bare minimum? (Last 15 seconds or so are PG-13.)

Frederica Mathewes-Green's recent podcast was interesting to me.  In it, she interviews Deacon Thomas Braun of Huntington Beach, California; he's known for dispensing sound financial advice, as he did in a daylong retreat at our church last weekend.  We can talk money later, but I wanted to point out something he said which interested me very much.  (Emphasis added.)

D.TB: . . . Back to the specifics, you were bringing up some critical things, especially that we see impacting the youth of today. There does seem to be, I think, an attitude problem, and I would wrap it up in one word, and that is “closure”. When a boss gives you a task, they want to see a completed task. If you give it back to them half baked, “Well I couldn’t get this answer”—you know, use some creativity and stretch yourself a little bit. You’re trying to learn, and what you’re really doing is you’re training yourself to do your boss’s job.

FMG: And what they have instead is an attitude picked up from school, that the teacher wants you to list ten words, and you list those ten words. It’s like, they look at what the boss tells them to do, and they think of the minimum way to accomplish that and get that task off your board. But you’re saying, think creatively. Think like your boss. What would he do? What would really knock his socks off?

D.TB: Well, you know what, Frederica, I think you’re going to love this comment I’m going to make because I know you’re in academia. What’s happened in academia is that our culture has come to be one of learning how to take tests, and studying for the test. Instead of studying to learn, and doing it for the joy of learning, and the passion of that, which is what education going back to the ancient Greeks. People went to school not to get an A, but they wanted to learn. And help their culture grow. We need to adopt that attitude. I think what happens is in schools we adopt that attitude of, well, teacher wants me to do this this and this for the A, but they don’t think creatively about what’s behind that. Why are they asking this question? I love the word proactive. You need to think ahead, what is it your boss wants, why is it they’re asking this question. Here’s a real practical example. Imagine if an investor came to you and he was going to hand you a million dollars to go buy a building or buy a company or something. You say, if it was my money, if it was my million dollars, what would I want to know before I would feel comfortable handing that million dollars over to sign on the bottom line? So that’s what I really want to encourage. Why does your boss want to know this? And your boss will be blown away by that.

Wow.  If only we could raise a generation that thought this way.  If only!  And as teachers, we have more of the burden than anyone.  We see kids six or seven hours a day, more time than they spend with their families or sports teams or even (usually) sleeping.  And we have to try to help them see the world that way -- to cultivate intellectual curiosity, not just meet requirements -- while simultaneously giving them sets of requirements and grading them on their proper execution of those requirements.  It's a hard line to walk.