Imagine

“You may say I’m a dreamer,  

but I’m not the only one.  

I hope someday you’ll join us,  

And the world will live as one.” 

– John Lennon

I
t was Game Six of the 2011 World Series and the St. Louis
Cardinals, down to their very last strike with two outs
in the bottom of the ninth inning, were about to go
down in defeat, losing to the Texas Rangers. The Rangers
were just one good pitch away from celebrating their first
World Series Championship. The Rangers players all stood
up and leaned against the Texas dugout railing, about to
witness their big win. St. Louis player David Freese was at
the plate and knew that with two strikes, he couldn’t afford
not to swing at any ball that even came close to the plate. It
would be humiliating to strike out taking a pitch as the last
batter in the final World Series game. Albert Pujols was on
second base and Lance Berkman had just walked and was on
first base. Rangers pitcher Neftalí Feliz started his windup
and smoked the ball towards the plate. Smack, Freese hits
a fly ball off the right field wall, tripling home both Pujols
and Berkman. Game tied 7–7. Into the 10th inning where
Texas scored two runs, and St. Louis stubbornly somehow
answered with two runs of their own. No scoring by either
team in the 10th inning. No scoring by Texas in the top of
the 11th inning. Mark Lowe pitched the 11th inning for Texas.
First batter up, David Freese again. This time, smack: solo
walk off home run victory, 10–9 Cardinals. After being one
strike from elimination, the Series would now be tied 3–3.
St. Louis went on to win the final in one of the most exciting
World Series in recent memory, at least for St. Louisans.
What was it about David Freese that gave him the inner
confidence to keep him from freezing at the plate? How
could he sustain his intense concentration with the belief
that he could succeed against all odds? Could his upbringing
and past successes have possibly given him faith? Perhaps
as a child, David even imagined batting in the World Series
as the final hope of his team and then coming through?
David Freese, as we all are, was certainly a product of his
upbringing, and most likely, a dreamer.
Dr. Suzuki too was a dreamer. “Man is a product of his
environment,” Dr. Suzuki espoused. By reaching out to all
children and giving them love, Dr. Suzuki believed we could

change the world for the better. In the Suzuki method, the
end game is not how well a child is able to play on their
instrument. It’s not even how successful a child eventually
becomes as an adult, partly based on the brain development
garnered through his Suzuki education. The end game is the
creation of a person of inner confidence who shows
kindness and respect to others. I think that is really the
end game of baseball, too, at least at the junior level, but
sometimes it is so easy to forget the forest when you are just
looking at the trees.
Suzuki teachers are often judged on how their students
play when those students are 10 years old, or perhaps how
they play at the time they graduate from high school.
Sometimes teachers are judged by how prestigious a music
school their students get accepted into. But what is most
important in teaching our students is something far less
tangible, much harder to measure, but far more important.
How prepared are our students for the world they will
venture into? The simple fact is that, other than a child’s
parents or close relatives, Suzuki teachers probably have a
longer relationship with a child than anyone else in their
short lives, often lasting for 13 or 14 years. What influence
we have in shaping a child’s character and instilling in them
confidence to go out into the world! We have the power to
teach them to shake off failure and the power to continue
to pursue what they desire in the face of obstacles. These
things are far more important to most of our students than
any benefits provided by pedagogically correct training.
Interestingly, psychologists have found that we learn to
treat others as we ourselves have been treated growing
up. Our childhood experiences foster ingrained habits of
how we treat others. Behaviors are thus, to a large extent,
learned, so it is imperative that we always treat our students
with respect and kindness. It is better to teach gibberish
with love and respect than it is to teach conservatory-quality
teaching with uncompromising demands, condemnation,
and even hurtful criticism. From my experience teaching
at workshops, I know the primary function of an institute

teacher is to support the home teacher
and motivate the child to have fun

with their instrument. The new tech-
niques they may learn at the institute

will probably not be remembered

years hence, but the joy of making mu-
sic with new friends, being accepted

by a non-judgmental camp teacher,

and racking up copious happy fam-
ily memories will last a lifetime. My

28-year-old son still asks me, “When
can we go back to Stevens Point?” And
you know, I just might bring him back
there one summer to visit. Nicholas,
who has autism, found the wonderful
teachers there—Sarah Smith,
James Van Reeth, Janis Wittrig,
and others—to be so caring,
and they accepted him for who
he was. And as a vulnerable

child with a learning disabil-
ity, the love he experienced

at that institute helped him
transform into the successful
young man he has become.
Additionally, seeing my son
treated like he was the most
important person in the world
at his lessons gave me the
belief that what we are doing
transcends what we teach,
and is what the world needs to
right itself.
I cringe when I hear that a few of the
“best” teachers in town threaten to
drop students if they don’t meet the

teacher’s demands, often remind-
ing the student that there are many

others waiting in the wings to come

into their studio and replace that stu-
dent. These teachers don’t hesitate to

“window-dress” their studios to make
themselves look like better teachers by
dropping the slower students, hoping
to attract the fastest moving students
from other teachers to transfer to
them. They say things like, “I can be
selective because there is so much
demand for my teaching.” Perhaps
their teaching is excellent, but with
that type of teaching always comes
collateral damage to some students
who don’t measure up. And if every
student in a program looks fantastic,

it really is too good to be true. Even
a fantastic teacher will have a “bell

curve” of student excellence, as some-
times life gets in the way of progress.

Having a program with many good
students, a few fantastic students, and
a few slower-learning students is not
the sign of a mediocre teacher, it is
the sign of an excellent teacher with
a kind heart.
Parents innately have loving hearts
for their children. Parents also know a
child best. But all parents are different.
And a baby doesn’t often come with
a manual like a new car does. Some

parents are naturally wonderful, some
research parenting and become great
parents, many are inexperienced, and
some are just overwhelmed with the
stress of parenting. As experienced

Suzuki teachers, we can be an invalu-
able resource, nurturing both parents

and their children. Helping train
their children how to focus, how to
face a problem situation and design a
solution to this problem is a primary
task, but by teaching these life skills
with kindness and respect, we show
parents (and students) that success is
not only about achievement. We train
the child; we train the parent. We
know those who are brought up in a
kind and loving environment have a
great propensity to share that kindness
with all the others they will meet in
life. Imagine!

But what of those children who have
not had the good fortune to be treated
well when young? How you feel about
the world when you’re young stays
with you for your whole life. Those

who feel wronged as children some-
times keep that grudge harbored

inside and can use that resentment as
a misguided excuse to mistreat others.

Whether stealing from others, harm-
ing others, or more likely just feeling

like the world owes them something,
this is a dangerous idea with possible
negative consequences. Being able to
hear a young mind out and intervene
when necessary is important.

This is where the role of par-
ents always come into play, but

the role of a long-term mentor
such as a Suzuki teacher can
have great influence, too. By
seeing our students each week,
and by not being a member of
their immediate family, we
have an important vantage
point, and thus can have a
great power to help comfort a

dejected child who has experi-
enced something negative and

transform this experience into
something positive.

At times it may even be ap-
propriate to even share our

life’s experiences. One such sharing
that I vividly recall was one of the
most beautiful and poignant lessons
I even learned, and it came from the
late Yuko Honda. Yuko had undergone
one of the most traumatic experiences
a parent can undergo: her children
had been taken with her husband
to another country, and from what I
understand, she had no idea of their
whereabouts. It was during Yuko’s
presentation at an SA A conference
that she revealed her pain and how
she thought that harboring in all the
resentment from how she had been
wronged had been a mistake. Yuko
revealed that she had cancer, and that
although she had no way of knowing
for sure, bottling up that resentment
from her past did not hurt anyone
in the world but herself. When she

realized that, she was able to let go of
feeling violated and start her healing
process. Yuko even went as far as one
could go and said that she would make
friends with her own cancer. I think
that was such a beautiful lesson Yuko
shared, and if our students learn no
technique or musicianship from us

teachers, if they learn a lesson as pow-
erful as that while they are still young,

then they have learned the world. The
music lessons will have been worth it
from the standpoint of that one lesson
alone: there are times when it is in
the best interest of one’s mental and
physical health to just “let it go.”
As Suzuki teachers we may be judged
by outsiders on how many of our
students get into youth orchestras,
how well they play for their age, or
what music scholarship they might
eventually receive. But the real value
of our teaching will probably never
be able to be judged by outsiders; it
is the character we help mold in our
students along the way. Last spring, I
had the good fortune to be contacted
on Facebook by a student I taught 30
years ago. She asked if I remembered

her, and of course I did. I remem-
bered that she was playing the Haydn

Concerto in C the last year I taught at

Wheaton College Suzuki Program, and
that I had asked her to order the Haydn
Concerto in G, but she got the wrong
one by mistake and we worked on it
anyway. I remembered her main issue

was tight vibrato and I remember ad-
dressing that issue with her as she tried

too hard, and it locked her vibrato up.
But what I remember most was riding
in the van with that family to Ravinia
to hear a performance and that they
used every minute of the drive to learn
and educate themselves, and I was very
impressed with Felicia and her family.
So, it was so nice to be reconnected via
Facebook, and even nicer to know that

she now lived in San Francisco as an at-
torney and had two children that were

studying Suzuki themselves. I told her
I would be teaching at the Northern
California Suzuki Institute in July,
and Felicia invited me to dinner with
her and her two children when I came

there. At dinner, it was so heartwarm-
ing to hear her talk of how valuable a

gift her Suzuki training was. Felicia
told me her violin teacher at UCLA
was impressed with the quality her
playing, but more importantly, that
the skills she learned from me really
helped her through high school and
eventually with her education in law

school at UCLA. Felicia said that she
now wanted to give that same gift of
Suzuki lessons to her own children.

I felt very gratified after that din-
ner and wondered how many other

former students felt this way too? You
just never have the opportunity as a
teacher to hear all the stories. I was
happy to learn Felicia turned out to
be a successful big-city attorney and
that she recognized and was grateful
for the value of her previous Suzuki
instruction. While “cause and effect”
might be too strong a relationship to
delegate to Suzuki training and later
success, “correlation” comes to mind.
Last month I learned my niece, who is
an attorney in Kansas City, now wants
her daughter to start Suzuki violin
lessons there. Jenny herself had taken
lessons with me in her childhood and
even participated in our Disney World
performance in June 2000. I wonder
what impact her lessons had on her
success and on her decision to start her
daughter on Suzuki violin.

Dr. Suzuki realized man was a prod-
uct of his env ironment, and he

envisioned a world that, when touched
by Talent Education, would be a better
place. Naïve? Perhaps. Impossible?
Maybe this is starting to happen.

“I wonder if you can.
No need for greed or hunger,
a brotherhood of man.
Imagine all the people,
sharing all the world.
You may say I’m a dreamer,
but I’m not the only one.
I hope someday you’ll join us,
and the world will live as one.”

– John Lennon