Mr. P

I've been doing a lot of thinking about some of the people who have influenced my life, and why they are special to me. One of those I've been thinking about is my middle school band director, Mr. P. He prefers me to call him by his first name these days, but that's really hard for me. I make myself do it every now and then, thinking it will come more naturally, but it still feels funny.

20 years ago, I was about to start 6th grade. I signed up for band at the end of 5th grade when it was time to pick electives for the following year. That was the big jump from elementary school to middle school. So many changes took place in that transition. Changing classes every period, lockers, dressing out in PE... middle school was a strange, new, and scary world.

Band was a bright spot in it from the beginning. I remember summer band, which started a few weeks before school started. That was a crash course in learning the instruments so that when school started things would go more smoothly. Being introduced to it ahead of time, band class was the safest place on campus even on the first day of school.

I started out playing percussion in 6th grade. I was in a beginning band class of woodwinds and percussion. I learned very quickly that I did not like percussion. I knew too much music to be satisfied with just playing rhythm. I got bored. And the other girl who played percussion in my class liked to hit me with her sticks when no one was looking. It was not a happy thing for me to be back there in the percussion section.

I remember going to Mr. P about 6 weeks into 6th grade with my aunt's clarinet in hand. I went to him and begged to switch over. I played "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" for him to prove that I was able to do it, and immediately be caught up with the other clarinet players who had started about 10 weeks prior. He let me make the switch. It was a very good move for me. Not only was I now playing music, I wasn't being assaulted by my fellow players!

Mr. P's office was the place to be at lunch time, before and after school, any time we weren't required to be in another class. He always had funny stories to tell. He treated us like people, and he wasn't afraid to be a real person. Looking back, I know there were plenty of things that he didn't share with us, but we never had to wonder if he cared. That was obvious. One thing he could not tolerate was disrespect. Whether it was during class or any other time, if there was disrespect taking place, Mr. P was not letting it pass.

Fast forward to my 9th grade year, and Mr. P made the move to a high school in the district. For that and a couple other reasons, I transferred to that high school. I got to have Mr. P for four more years.

After I graduated from high school, and even college, I'd go back and stop by to see Mr. P, to say hi and catch up. I was always greeted with a welcoming smile. He always made a few minutes for me if he could. In the last several years our visits have been few and far between, but I'd say that I consider him a friend. Having not been a student of his for 13 years, the majority of the time I've known him has not been as a teacher and student, but as friends.

As I think about the prospect of going back to work, being a teacher again, I often think of Mr. P, and how I'd like to be for someone else what he has been to me. I believe that bond begins with making music.

Mr. P and me at the end of the band banquet my senior year, 1996.