Instant Karma

 Week Thirty-Three: Instant Karma

Instant karma’s gonna get you

gonna look you right in the face

Better get yourself together darlin’

Join the human race

Who in the hell d’you think you are?

A superstar?

Well, right you are.

We all shine on

Like the moon and the stars and the sun

—John Lennon, Imagine, from the album Imagine

Just ten days after John Lennon wrote Instant Karma it was available in stores! Urban legend has Lennon saying something like, “I wrote it in the morning, recorded it in the afternoon, and sold the records in the evening.” In any case, there has never been another example of a song being produced so quickly.

Most people my age are at least familiar with the song, even if we never bothered to learn the backstory. As Lennon predicted, “Instant karma’s gonna get you!” Karma is the notion that something deserving but unexpected happens when a person’s actions backfire. As my dear, departed mother used to say, “You’ll get your just desserts.” I think Lennon was shooting for a more positive message, one that holds everyone responsible for the well-being of humanity.

I’ve heard this song many, many times since 1970, and for some reason when I heard it recently I thought of a particular student I taught in the Netherlands. 

In 2006, when I retired from the Baltimore County Public Schools, Baltimore County, Maryland, we moved to North Carolina. After a few years I was given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to teach English in Cambodia. That experience led to lightning-strikes-twice-I-guess-you-can-go-home-again opportunity to teach a fifth grade class at the International School of Amsterdam in Amstelveen, NL. The class was composed of 22 students from five continents. As a group we spoke 18 languages. (One Belgian fellow spoke five!) They were as brilliant as they were diverse. I could probably feature most of them individually in future posts, but on a sunny hot day that had me transporting two loads of our possessions to the house we just bought as I pulled into the driveway, Instant Karma began to play on the radio. 

By now you know that I am always listening for the right lyric to prompt a memory or a story just for this blog, and it was when I heard Lennon sing, “Who in the hell do you think you are? A superstar? Well, right you are!” I had what I wanted.

I joined the fifth graders mid-year. Long story, but when they returned from Christmas holiday they met their “new” American teacher. We had several Zoom calls in December, so I wasn’t a complete surprise to them. (I knew I was swimming in deep water on my first day when a British girl asked me what she should do with the homework assignment they had been given. I looked around and saw a plastic tray by the door. "Let's see,” I said. “Put it in the bin over there.” She stared at me slack-jawed. Finally she said, “You want me to throw it away?” Oops. But I digress.)

I was given a description of each student. According to what I was told, they were everything from brilliant to trouble, lazy to highly motivated, from sweet to saucy. I knew I would decide for myself.

I learned a very long time ago that one pivotal moment in the teacher-student relationship is when the child offers unsolicited personal information. For example, “Guess what, we got a puppy yesterday” or “Chocolate is my favorite.” As a teacher of young people I wait and watch for that moment with every child. In this class, for one of the boys, it seemed to never come. He was difficult. He seemed grumpy. He was aloof. He had no friends that I could identify, but that was his preference. He rejected the overtures of classmates. He seemed never to play group games like futbol. During instructional activities he insisted on working alone. He did not want to work with others, and made it perfectly clear he wouldn’t. (That was perfectly fine with his classmates. Like I said, he was difficult.)

One day I heard an outburst. A girl raised her voice insisting that he had hit her. My reaction was swift. For the first time in the first three weeks I raised my voice and risked alienating him completely. I remember his decision to spend the next hour under one of the tables. Like I said, he was difficult.

I can’t tell you how much time passed, but I remember clearly the day he told me he played the piano. There it was. The hook was set. I just had to reel him in. As we talked he invited me to watch him “practice”. (ISA is an exclusive private school, so soundproof rehearsal rooms are available to students who want to use them.) I accepted.

That same afternoon, I found him in one of the rehearsal rooms. He told me he was waiting for me. He sat at the keyboard, and I sat behind him. (I should add at this point I had no idea his level of proficiency. All he had said was that he played the piano.) Before he touched the keyboard, he raised both hands above his head. He interlaced his fingers and stretched his arms in front of his face cracking his knuckles. He released his hands and struck the keyboard with the confidence of Van Cliburn. His hands ran over the keyboard making a joyful noise that consumed me and the room where we sat. The sound was overwhelming. The emotional impact of that moment was for me like a reward for a four decade career in education.

When he finished, he turned to face me. He smiled. One of the first ones I could remember.

I cannot say he miraculously transformed from difficult to accommodating, but I can say everything changed. He had trusted me with his burden. I got a clear view into who he was. No wonder he was difficult.

Afterward I attended every recital he had. 

A superstar? Well, right you are!

(Note: I had met with his mother many times to discuss his behavior. After the day I just described when I met with her, I asked why she had not told me about his musical gifts. “Told you what?” she asked. “He is expected to conform. He is expected to behave.”)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z0xuFICONtE