Right Mothering

A couple of weekends ago, my daughter had a violin recital. She began learning violin, Suzuki method, just over one year ago and has almost finished Volume 1. If you are not familiar with Suzuki, then the level of the pieces that children can master so quickly would probably amaze you.

But as my daughter played, my cheeks blushed warmly; she butchered the song, and there was nothing I could do. She had been playing it so well the previous week and at her lesson two days earlier. But, at the recital, with the look of a deer caught in the headlights, she jumbled passages and even notes. And yet, she tenaciously executed both repeats.

I can easily understand her performance – a room packed full of strangers looking only at her and not more than a couple of feet between her and the front row. I feel terrible about my pink face and have long since quashed my initial impulse to judge. She hadn’t even noticed, or at least wouldn’t admit, that her performance wasn’t up to par.

My thoughts turned to questions of why I am torturing my daughter with the violin. She memorizes the songs quickly and executes them precisely, at least for a five-year old, but they never sounds all that great. At the recitals, one quickly appreciates that it must take many years of study for violin students to make music that is remotely pleasing to the ears. But at this recital, a little boy played Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and it sounded good. His violin was quite large for his size, and perhaps that made all the difference, but it made me wonder why my daughter didn’t produce nearly as good a sound with her violin.

The violin is a challenge. My daughter also studies the piano, and it always sounds good. The violin demands coordination of multiple movements. The child must place fingers on the left hand must at precise spots on the finger board with sufficient pressure and at the same time place the bow equidistant from the bridge and the end of the finger board, move it parallel to both with, again, a precise amount of pressure. For a perfectionist, such as my daughter is, mastery comes only after much frustration.

The Suzuki method also poses its challenges. Each song is substantially more difficult than the previous; progress is unrelenting. Plus, daily practice is essential, at least for us. If we take even one day off, we notice it the next day.

After some reflection, I feel right persevering. Oddly, my daughter has enjoyed practicing these first two weeks after the recital. Second, I want her to learn to manage her stage fright. How better than to undergo this twice-yearly ritual. Third, even if, or especially if, she is ultimately not a very talented violinist, I appreciate the challenge the violin presents to her perfectionism. My daughter excels at most everything she tries, but I want her also to enjoy doing things at which she does not excel. This seems a good way for her to learn some humility and also how to temper her perfectionism, when needed.