The ornate, yellow and white clad lions bobbed in time to the percussive rhythms of cymbals, gongs, and drums. Flashes of red and gold glittered as they moved. The audience cheered wildly as the lions performed athletic leaps upon tall poles, jumping effortlessly from one pedestal to another. The dancers’ legs were perfectly synchronized not only with each other but also to the music provided by the percussionists playing on the side. The Lion Dance is a traditional Chinese dance performed at the Chinese New Year, religious festivals, weddings, birthday celebrations, and business opening events. It is believed to bring good luck and fortune to the spectators. Unlike in the Dragon Dance, only two people manipulate the costume of the lion – one in the head and one in the body – both obscured from their waists up. The dancers are usually members of martial arts schools and the dance movements are based on kung fu moves. A luogu percussion ensemble, consisting of gongs, cymbals, and drums, accompanies the dancers. The music performed by the luogu ensemble is typically loud and raucous, creating excitement and playful interaction with the lion.
Denzel and Augustus watched enthusiastically to the video clip, ooh-ing and ah-ing with every jump. Both fifth-graders were eager to begin work on their own lion dance moves. Augustus was African-American, his parents having emigrated from Liberia. He was lean and lanky and constantly in motion (including his mouth, which often got him in trouble). He reminded me of the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz – though not exactly graceful, there was a certain fluidity to his movements. Additionally, under the argumentative bravado there was a sensitive boy with a very fine brain. Denzel was also African-American with a step-father from Liberia. The child was skinny despite constantly noshing on food (and occasionally his clothing). Like Augustus, he was always in motion with little self-control physically or verbally – and he was often in trouble because of it. However, whereas Augustus moved somewhat smoothly, Denzel seemed to struggle with physical coordination and control over his limbs. Since kindergarten when I first met him, Denzel showed difficulty executing simple moves (i.e., skipping, walking slowly in a straight line, jumping on one foot) without wobbling or colliding with objects and classmates. Over the years, Denzel’s coordination and self-control did not improve substantially. Eventually, he grew into a gangly fifth-grader who could not stand or sit still for even a few minutes and who continued to bump into things and people. It was as though Denzel had little awareness of what his body parts were doing at any particular time – and it took considerable conscious effort for him to become aware of his physicality.
Classroom teachers often remark how amazed they are to see students they consider to be rambunctious or disruptive performing on stage in my ensembles. I see a side of the children that the classroom teachers sometimes do not see – what I see as a child’s strengths. Of the varied forms of representation in which people think (i.e., visual, auditory, linguistic, kinesthetic, tactile, gestural, mathematical), schools exclusively emphasize two: the denotative use of language and the mathematical. By emphasizing verbal and mathematical forms of representation, schools narrow the curriculum and, importantly, discriminate against those students whose preferred mode of thought may be otherwise. In other words, a student whose ways of thinking or home experiences differ from what is taught and honored by the school may find it more difficult to succeed. The music ensembles offer opportunities for all students to “play to their strengths,” “follow their bliss,” and “develop what they are good at” (1). I had purposely chosen both fifth-grade boys to play the part of the lion because of their excess energy and exuberance. In fact, it was that same high level of energy and unbridled activity – always unfocused and “all over the place” in music classes – which discouraged me from inviting them to participate in any of the ensembles in previous years. However, the lion dance requires a great deal of movement and stamina, which both boys possessed in abundance. Participating as the lion, the two would have an opportunity to channel their excess energy into positive behavior whilst learning to control their physical movements and work cooperatively with others in an ensemble. As an added bonus, I thought they might tire themselves out during the hour-long rehearsals, possibly reducing chances for getting into trouble back in their classrooms. It seemed a win-win situation for all involved.
From the beginning, Denzel wanted to be the leader (head of the lion). The two boys were friends and Augustus never challenged Denzel’s claim to the leadership position. The boys had choreographed their own dances after watching a few video clips of lion dances by professional and amateur performers. Denzel wanted to perform the daring jumps seen in the videos but had a difficult time remembering the dance steps, despite having written everything down. Week after week, he struggled to remember which foot to start on, and became confused coordinating a simple left-right foot stepping pattern in time to the steady beat of the luogu ensemble. Consequently, the boys kept simplifying until the dances consisted of rather uninteresting forward/backward stepping and two-foot hops. Despite the struggles and frustration, though, neither boy waned in his enthusiasm and determination to create and successfully perform the dances. They both attended weekly rehearsals on time and ready to work, indicating their commitment and responsibility to the ensemble.
After two months, Augustus suddenly did not show to rehearsal despite his attendance at school. Denzel and the other ensemble students were quick to inform me that Augustus’ classroom teacher had pulled him from the ensemble for misbehavior in her class. All the students bemoaned the fact, claiming it was unfair to Augustus and to them. Though upset, I was not surprised. The previous year the same teacher had pulled a soloist from the chorus two weeks prior to the final performance for misbehavior. At the time, I begged the teacher to reconsider her decision, arguing it would negatively affect the entire ensemble. She refused to renege, leaving us to scramble to replace the soloist prior to the concert. Based on that experience, I knew she would not change her mind this time regarding Augustus.
It is frustrating when classroom teachers use the ensembles as a reward then take participation away as punishment for behaviors that occur outside the music room. The child loses opportunity to excel in an area not offered in the classroom, and the rest of the ensemble suffers from his/her absence as well. Additionally, it sends the message that what the children (and I) do in the ensembles is not important. And yet, I must tread carefully, knowing that students can only participate in the ensembles with their classroom teacher’s consent. I must be diplomatic to ensure students will be able to participate in future ensembles. For this reason, I did not confront Augustus’ teacher. Sometimes one must be pragmatic and play politics to achieve overall objectives.
Conversely, there were many occasions when Denzel’s teacher might have wanted to pull him as punishment for his classroom behavior; however, she did not. She recognized that, as infuriating as his behavior could often be, he needed the positive experience of the ensemble – and, too, the other ensemble members needed his continued participation. Ultimately, we managed to find another student to replace Augustus in the Lion Dance. Though Augustus remained upset that he had been pulled from the ensemble, he supported the other students enthusiastically when they eventually performed for the entire school in January. And though the dancing was not the most artistically inspiring, it brought about exhilarating applause from the student body – something Denzel had never before experienced and probably will never forget.
(1) Eisner, E.W. (1998). The kind of schools we need: Personal essays. Heinemann: Portsmouth,
NH.
No comments:
Post a Comment