A story about music, middle school, and making room for students to breathe.
If students feel calm, safe, curious, and excited, they learn that curiosity is valuable. That their voice matters. That school is a place where they belong. But if students feel nervous that a teacher does not understand them, anxious they will not fit in, unheard, unseen, or like their perspective carries little value, they learn that too.
I learned this lesson the hard way.
Earlier in my career, I was the teacher with a joke, a gimmick, and a meticulously detailed lesson plan. I often had a teaser question or object somewhere in the room to spark curiosity. My PowerPoints ended with the homework assignment projected on the screen while I walked around fist-bumping students as they copied it down.
Five periods a day. Every day. It was a routine. And it was a lot.
I cared deeply about making my classes engaging. I wanted every minute used wisely.
But I also took up a tremendous amount of space.
At fall conferences one year, I realized this. Sadly. Embarrassingly. Gratefully.
A mother and father sat across from me in tiny student desks, eager to hear about their thirteen-year-old son. He was new to the school — a large international school in Central London — and they wanted to know how he was doing.
I could speak confidently about his early assessment scores and his math skills.
But it became painfully clear that I did not actually know him.
Not really.
To my surprise, I named it out loud. I admitted that I had not yet connected with him personally, and I apologized.
His mother teared up immediately.
She shared that she worried constantly about how quiet he was. Whether he was fitting in. Whether this enormous international school felt overwhelming compared to the smaller school they had left back home.
I was not yet a mother then, but her vulnerability was palpable.
And suddenly I realized something difficult:
In all of my planning and preparation, I had not actually created a classroom environment that invited him to speak.
How had I not noticed?
How had I not left enough room in my lessons for him to have room?
That question changed me.
I began rethinking not only my lessons, but my classroom itself. I started asking myself what reminders I could leave not just for my students, but for me.
Reminders to pause.
To notice.
To leave space.
To let students breathe, reflect, regulate, ask questions, and speak their minds.
I bought a record player.
The school where I taught was less than half a block from Abbey Road Studios. Even the coffee shop by the Tube stop was covered in Beatles paraphernalia, and I loved it almost as much as I loved their lattes.
So every morning, I played music as students walked into class.
Sometimes we danced a little — as much as middle schoolers are willing to dance in front of one another.
Sometimes we listened carefully to lyrics.
Sometimes there were no words at all. Just the quiet sound of classical piano filling the room on a rainy London Tuesday morning.
At first, I only played Beatles songs. Think global, listen local. 😉
Eventually, though, my repertoire expanded.
And no, there is not a perfect Hollywood ending to this story.
I still struggled at times to connect my very extroverted teaching style with the needs of that lovely quiet thirteen-year-old boy. I still sometimes performed like I was a one-woman band with a tambourine in my hand and a harmonica in my pocket.
But slowly, I learned things about him.
I learned he played the cello.
I learned he adored Itzhak Perlman.
And one December, he brought in an Itzhak Perlman record and gave it to our classroom as a Christmas gift.
At spring conferences, his parents thanked me for making an effort to connect with him.
This time I teared up a bit (I am a crier) and thanked them for sharing their son with me.
That was more than fifteen years ago. He is probably thirty years old now.
And every single time I hear a cello, I think about him. More importantly, I thank him.
Because he taught me something I desperately needed to learn:
Sometimes the most important thing a teacher can do is lean back a little in their lesson planning so students have room to lean in.
A few things that helped me create more room in my classroom. Fun blue record player, mid-century record player stand, and of course Abbey Road by The Beatles.