Explosion into...Music!

Everyone knows about Dr. Montessori's children at San Lorenzo who "exploded into writing", but very few know about Kevin Hammond's explosion into music. It happened one day in Portland, Oregon in the classroom of yours truly. It began as a follow up to the "Notes on the Staff" lesson.          

After working with the green boards and black disks for a short time, Kevin approached me with a sheet of manuscript paper full of little black dots neatly placed on lines and spaces.
     "I wonder," I asked him, "If you'd like to add rhythms to those note heads." 
     "Huh? What do you mean?", he said.
     "Remember our lessons on ta and ti-ti? (I had given the whole class some quick lessons on ta and ti-ti in our gatherings.) All you have to do is draw a stem on a note for ta and link two notes together with a little soccer-goal-looking thing for ti-ti. Like this." 

I drew rhythm stems on his first few notes. Kevin goggled at me, eyes wide, and in a poof of hairpins (like in the old Bugs Bunny cartoons), he was gone, head down at his desk, scribbling away.
     The next day, Kevin came to me with a stack of sheets of music full of dots and stems neatly placed in lines and spaces. I played some of his music at the piano. He jumped up and down.
     "I'm confused about where the stems go," he said.
I showed him the simple rule that when a note head is below the middle line the stem goes on the right and up, and when the note is on or above the middle line, the stem goes on the left and down. Simple: below the line, up; on or above the line; down. Again: goggly eyes, Poof!, more frantic scribbling. The next time Kevin came to me he had traced over all of the middle lines on his staff paper in green so he wouldn't get confused about where to place the stems. I played his music for him. He bounced in place, clapping and giggling.

Soon Kevin begged his parents for piano lessons.

After a short while, he continued to approach me again with music he'd written. Each time he came to me his writing got more sophisticated. First he came with bar lines written in, then he he'd added bass clef, then time signatures, then different note values, and so on. Within a few short months, Kevin showed me fully legible piano music. I played it for him. More bouncing, clapping, and giggling.

For all this joy Kevin seemed to be getting from writing music, he had a terrible temper. One day when I was absent he exploded at the substitute and hit her. Upon my return I made him write her an apology. He scrawled out a note to her on Story Paper, you know, the kind that has green lines on only the bottom half of the page. He didn't know what to do with the top half of the paper, so I suggested he draw a picture. He angrily refused.
     "Maybe you could write her some music," I said.
     Goggle eyes. Poof!
Kevin returned from his table with eight bars of fully notated piano music. When I played it, he was quick to point out my mistakes.
     "No, you have to hold that note down there in the bass LONGER!" he said.
     I made the adjustment. He presented his note to the substitute whom he'd injured. She cried when I played it. All was forgiven.

Let me reiterate that Kevin's explosion into writing music was the result not of my direct instruction, but of the combination of two indirect experiences: One, I'd given the class quick 5-minute lessons on ta and ti-ti, and two, I'd given Kevin and some others the "Notes on the Staff" lesson from my Montessori album. The rest was all Kevin.

I also want to point out that it wasn't long before Kevin was showing other children how to write their own music. In fact, thanks to him: Poof! music was alive in our classroom.

Kevin teaches a friend how to write music.