As I was checking a few of my facts for a paper, I happened across a biography of Glenn Doman - with two dates. Wait, what? As in, J.S. Bach 1685-1750. My biography only has one date...
Suddenly my world was in shock.
I have cited Glenn Doman in nearly every paper I've written remotely related to development or education in the last seven years. Usually, I don't even have to check the publishing stats, but I don't trust my brain and like to double check. I have never met Glenn Doman in person - only through his writing; and yet I felt as if I had just lost a mentor. Serious doubts exist as to whether I would be involved in music at all if not for this mentor author.
In high school, I discovered an old book Doman had written chronicling his work in neurologically based physical therapy (What to do About Your Brain Injured Child). I was hooked. The idea of Frequency, Intensity, and Duration as the key components of neurological pathway development and regeneration would haunt me - and eventually get me through college.
Throughout my school years - elementary, middle school - it was evident I had learning disabilities; but being the stubborn (or the world I like - tenacious) child I was, my compensation skills kept me from exposing the extent to which those disabilities affected me. But all that compensating caught up with me in college and the roller coaster began.
In all my tenacious brilliance, I had become a music major. That life plan crashed and burned - pretty literally. I hit a reinforced cement blockade with razor wire decorating the top. What I didn't know was the name of my blockade; sight reading struggles were really named dyslexia (yep, you CAN read music backwards - and I did), and instead of 'lazy practicing,' my intonation issues were "auditory processing delay;" The razor wire consisted of some pinched nerves in my neck, making my practice time not only ineffective but excruciatingly painful. But I didn't know any of that. Clearly, this wasn't working - and I quit.
The problem was, you can't quit who you are. A little physical therapy cleared away the razor wire, but the other issues were not so obviously addressed. I kept going, kept learning, but my interest in neurology began dominating my research time - which was a good thing. As I re-read What to Do, a comment about infant auditory reflexes exploded my world; I was twenty-one years old and still reacting to aural stimulus in a reflexive manner. That couldn't be right. But it was.
With crude instruments (a metronome, tuner, and cell phone camera) I started timing my auditory responses and reactions in the practice room. The numbers were indicative of an auditory processing delay. Not a deficiency, just a delay. Some neural pathways were having trouble communicating, and my dyslexia wasn't helping. Back to the books.
Once again, it was Doman with the light bulb moment. Frequency, Intensity and Duration became my practice room motto as I taught myself how to learn. By breaking down music into smaller pieces, I was able to triple the frequency of repetitions; playing scales slower and louder, the auditory stimulus was intensified and the duration extended. Everyone forced to listen through the thin practice walls thought the scale infatuated chic was nuts, but it started working. My practice sessions were longer, slower, and annoyingly repetitive - and at the end of the semester, my processing speed had almost doubled.
Just in time to pass my juries.
There I was, still researching and writing about my pet topic of neuro-therapy and education, but reading those two dates lined up on my computer screen brought my productivity to a halt. Glenn Doman had only mentored me through his books, but they changed my life. His stories had shown that anything is possible, even when the word 'disability' describes the struggle to get there. The struggle is real, but it doesn't define anyone.
Thank you Dr. Doman, for the inspiration to overcome.
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