modes

One night last week Ted and Mom and I were talking about education, as we often due. I ended up most the night trying to remember and explain all the different modes and their relationship to scales.
I hated that semester of theory. I never did learn to sing them or hear them just by name. And none of it really made sense until my last spin with grad school when I was actually playing music that used them.
Either way, Ted said something that really made me think. He was arguing that he didn't really want to know about them in high school, but would have liked to know there was more out there than he did know about.
It made me think about if there was a moment that made me realize there was so much more out there that I wanted. Maybe I didn't need it, or even really care, but I wanted some sort of arbitrary knowledge that would somehow help me understand this thing we call music.
After about a week of pondering those thoughts, I know there was a moment. I was a freshman in high school. About 15 of us sat in Girls Glee. We were going over the theory portion of our final. It was basically just being able to write out a major scale and name the notes. The kind of stuff that I didn't know why, but I had known for years, due to massive amounts of band. Someone whs arguing that a singer didn't need to know any theory. They just needed to know up, down, and the same. The piano would tell them the rest.
As an answer, our teacher, who only knew enough piano to get us through the day (we had amazing accompanists for almost all rehearsals and concerts) pulls out a chord progression from thin air. It was something simple. Arpeggiated chords. Eight bars long. A phlagal cadence followed by a perfect authentic. Some really silly melody sung over the top about how if you didn't know basic theory you couldn't be a writer for the Backstreet Boys.
Not that I knew any of that at the time. But it amazed me that he could make something out of nothing. I knew it wasn't "music", but it was a song. I remember it all so clearly.
There was another moment when I was a senior in college. My theory professor and I were sitting at a piano bench. We were looking at a shenkerian bass line (no I did not spell that correctly) in a Strauss art song. Since my theory was so week, I could not figure out what was going on. She took the time to really help me see and understand where the notes were and why specific ones were important. In that moment I knew that there was more, and if I wanted it, I could learn it. I also knew in the few weeks I had left, there wasn't much point cramming. She mentioned that if I ever had a chance in grad school to see if I could take a refresher course. The funny thing was I already was thinking the same thing.
Even though I will still defend that an average music teacher does not have time to teach performance and theory in an average program, they should make sure to remind students that there is more out there, and maybe even kick them in the right direction.
I've wondered what drove me to keep learning for quite a while. I always want more, and I don't feel bad for that. I guess I've always felt like if I wanted something, I have plenty of time to find it, so why not explore now, even if it means that I may not be the "best" at what I do do. Its an odd way to look at education, and one that not many people do, or teach. I know I don't teach that way. But I wonder if I did ever inspire a moment of wanting more?