Tim Griffin Music

Growing up in the 1970’s was scary. Our president turned out to be a crook, our soldiers were being shot to death every evening on television, an oil cartel held our economy hostage, and our biggest ally from the second world war had publicly vowed to bury us.

Ironically, the scariest thing about it all was the way the adults kept insisting that everything was FINE. Most children’s shows, music, and books were always hammering us with cheery, simplistic messages of how everything was FINE. To any child who was paying attention, things were clearly not fine.

It was strangely comforting, then, to read a book not about a perfect boy who lives in a happy storybook-land, but rather one who does bad things, is punished severely, and goes on to confront his rage and fear head-on. Maurice Sendak took a lot of heat from censors and parents’ groups for portraying monsters and the children who deal with them. A lot of people said his books were too scary. Books are not scary, LIFE is scary. Maurice Sendak showed children how to own our fear and find the strength to master it.

I read hundreds of books as a child, but there are a very few that are still on my shelf. Where The WIld Things Are is one of them. Thank you, Mister Sendak.

My leave from my teaching position is being extended indefinitely so I can move to the next stage in my plan for musical domination of the world: I’m starting a non-profit educational corporation for the distribution of educational music via streaming audio, download, and live performance. All for free. Details pending, but the basic idea is that the non-profit will have one employee (me) drawing a modest salary. My job will be to apply for grants, do free shows at libraries & schools, correlate artistic content to grade-level standards, etc. CD’s will still cost money but everything else will be free. So if you are a teacher, librarian, etc. in Los Angeles county or any adjacent county, I can now come to you for FREE. I am happy to come for just one class or for a full-blown assembly. I can do a show tailored to the academic needs of your students or do a more workshop-style presentation that includes writing poetry and music. If you are farther away and you want me to come to you, contact me and we’ll see if we can work something out. I am willing to travel if we can set up several shows back to back.

To the students and families I have had the privilege to serve these last eighteen years, I cannot thank you enough. I have loved being a full-time teacher and I intend to keep one foot in the classroom through volunteering and some substitute work, but the music project is taking so much of my time and energy right now that I cannot do everything and be everywhere I want.

I’ve written several new songs but haven’t had time to record them yet. Most of my time in the studio has been spent polishing tracks for the third album. We’re really close to being done, so we even may get to some of the new stuff by the end of April.

When performing, I sometimes tell stories about teaching. I change or leave out the names, of course. I’ve often been told I should write a book of stories from my classroom, but I don’t think I could make it work. When James Herriot started writing about his veterinary adventures in All Creatures Great And Small (which you should read right now if you haven’t), he usually had the chance to follow up with his animal patients. Not all of his stories end happily, but he nearly always gets some sort of closure. In teaching, we seldom find out how our kids do after they leave us, so most of my stories work as anecdotes but not as full-blown narratives.

Once in a while, though, I run into a former student. It happened yesterday in the parking lot of a market in Eagle Rock. I was loading my purchases into my minivan when I heard an almost-familiar voice behind me.

“Mr. Griffin?” I turned and saw a good-looking young Armenian-American man. He introduced himself, not sure if I’d remember him. At the time, I vaguely remembered a kid who looked a little like this guy. If I remember correctly, I had to get in his face about… well, a whole lot of things.

In my addled brain, the memories of former students can be a bit fuzzy– I’ve had over five hundred by now– and it wasn’t until later that more of the details came back to me. Fifth grade, circa 2002. Nice kid, but with a cutting wit that often got him in trouble with teachers in the classroom and with bigger kids on the yard. Small for his age, but would sing operatic arias (beautifully!) in a huge vibrato to amuse the girls… during my lessons. Do you know how hard it is to yell at someone while you’re laughing? Exceptionally bright and articulate, but had some trouble reading at grade level, though we never did diagnose a specific issue despite numerous assessments. I eventually recommended he repeat fifth grade, but he told his mom (!) he refused. I cautioned him that I was worried for his safety in middle school; I urged him to lay off the witty remarks at bigger kids’ expense. Within a few weeks of going to middle school, he came back to visit with his arm in a cast. Got into a fight defending the honor of a young lady, the way he told it. In short, he was one of the kids all the teachers liked but worried about.

At 20, he’s doing well. He finished high school and is now in a culinary arts program. He’s going to be a chef! I walked a little taller the rest of the day. And if I got any of the details above wrong, I hope he will correct me.

So, a thought to share: if you’re an adult (that part’s important) and you wonder whether your former teachers would like to hear from you, be assured that we would. Just as a gardener loves to see the fruit of a garden he helped plant years ago, as a construction worker likes to see the house he helped build, teachers love to see the grown-up versions of their students, even if we have trouble remembering who you are right away. Most of us can be found on the various social media if you look. So go ahead, make someone’s day.