My son just finished his piano lesson. He loves piano. And he's pretty good, if I do say so myself. A twelve-year-old playing all the classical stuff his teacher brings, plus learning Scott Joplin and Monk on his own.
He plays all the time. We've never once told him to practice. We've only told him to stop a handful of times because we were on a call.
So we were surprised when he clicked out of Zoom and closed his computer and started crying.
What's wrong? He wouldn't answer. He walked into the kitchen and buried his head on the counter, full of emotion that we couldn't identify.
Finally, through tears and sobs and snot running down his face, he said, "I worked on that hard song all week and all she did was tell me the parts I messed up on."
His teacher is a kind woman. A professional piano player. She and my son have a good relationship.
She means well. She sees his talent. He likes her. We are happy with her.
And, sometimes in a hierarchical relationship – teacher/student, coach/player, parent/child, boss/direct report, mentor/mentee – we forget to connect with the other person before we correct the other person.
To say that we appreciate their hard work. Recognize their effort. Notice their drive.
We could all do well to pay attention to that part more often.