Pssst, I have a confession to make.
I am in love with what I do.
I never thought I would be, and I don't know if this kind of love lasts forever, but I know that right now, I am committed.
I recently finished working on Salem High School's production of Pippin. My colleague asked me to come on as Choreographer and Vocal Director. And, even though I can only read music (can't really play piano), we were able to find a workaround in the form of a program called Rehearscore. This computer program allows me to transpose, edit and insert vamps, adjust tempo, isolate vocal parts-all with a double click or two.
Amazing.
Even more amazing is the fact that I did this work with my two children. Every Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, some form of my little troupe and I would file into SHS with bags and snacks and strollers. I would begin packing for the rehearsal the evening before. I made an attempt to anticipate every need. Zachary had a toy box full of stickers and play dough and cars and books and animals that he kept on site. I made crockpot dinners since arrival home was during witching hour of 5:15 (with two hungry, often exhausted, children). We would arrive at school at 1:45 (45 minutes before rehearsal would begin) so that I could feed Zoe and put her to sleep. She got very used to napping in a auditorium full of voices and music. Zach would run around the stage and await the arrival of his friends (15 and 16 and 17 year olds who adopted him for a few months). He sat on the bare set, opened his lunchbox, and drank sippy cups full of milk while munching apples or cookies or cheese and crackers. He listened for the 2:10 bell, awaiting banging doors and students filing into the dusty auditorium. At about 2:30, I would hand my little ones off to a sweet student who was willing to babysit on site, and Zachary and Zoe would watch mama and her students dance and sing.
I was so afraid that the arrangement wouldn't work out. I was terrified that the director, my good friend, would resent me for having to divide attention. I was nervous the students wouldn't take me seriously if I occasionally had to teach dance with a 5 month old perched on my hip. I was overwhelmed with the work the choreography involved. The intricacy of the music. The needs I felt I had to meet.
That I wanted to meet.
And then I started and realized that this is the work I am meant to do. Really, the work that I am drawn to do. I love teaching English. I love the feel of the classroom and the nuances of text and the frustration and fascination of students. But teaching theater lights me up. The old 16 year old Sara comes back and I get giggly and energized and inspired. What the students don't know is that no one has changed. Nothing has changed. Facebook and technology and new drugs and new temptations can't change props and stage dust and the feel of working together to create a few moments, a few hours, of magic. It is the same feeling when I was a high school senior in 1997 as it is in 2011. It's heady and it's intoxicating.
Please know that I know I'm not on Broadway. I'm not trying to be anymore. The crazy thing is that I suspect the feeling is no different. When these kids succeed, I am flying. That's why the exhaustion and the planning and the coordinating is worth it. That's why my husband and my mother and my father are so willing to help. They know what this does for me. They know that I genuinely and really and truly want to be with these kids.
This reality differs from my fantasy of over 15 years ago. Once, I was going to sing and dance and act professionally. Once, I was sure it would be my life. But, as all my adult friends know, we can't see dimensionality from the perspective of an adolescent and I didn't know what life would bring, or the challenges I would face. There was a year or so at Emerson where theater wasn't healthy for me and, for a while, I swore off of it all together. Luckily, I've found it again and I'm not letting go.
Now, instead of humming old McDonald as he pushes a toy boat across the kitchen hardwoods, Zachary sings "We've got lyrical plays to play, we've got foibles and fables to portray."
Instead of requesting Raffi on the way to school, he asks for Glory.
The students had a show shirt specially made in his size. They taught him to play catch. They took him everywhere with them. Zoe doesn't really know what has been going on the past few months, but Zachary does and I am so happy about that. For a few months he got to watch me do something that electrifies me. He got to watch the students get excited. He watched sweat and work and laughing and joy.
He got to be a part of something.
He thought they were all stars.
Here's the secret-they are.
