Two years ago, I sat at a table in a room with rainbow carpeted walls, trying to convince two women that I, a then 22 year-old fresh-out-of-college grad could teach theatre to children. At the time, my resume was full of YAPs and college operas. My teaching resume was at best, minimal. As a former 5th grader who used to make her siblings perform elaborate and entirely unnecessary original Thanksgiving plays in our living room, I truly felt like children's theatre would be a perfect fit for me. I was hopeful this place with the carpeted walls could be a work home as I tried to figure out this next chapter of my life as an oddball artist with a journalism degree. I got more than I bargained for. In the best possible way. That fall, I joined the FPCT faculty as an outreach teaching artist. It was a big time learning experience. (Classroom management, y'all. It's an art.) Although my classes only lasted an hour after school, I wanted all of my students to look forward to class and present a fun final sharing, so that first year, I watched and took notes. That first year, I learned 1st-2nd graders like to dance. I made 100 different copies of the same script for approx. three different classes because I wanted each student to have exactly the same number of lines. I got frustrated when students would goof off and students would pull focus, but over time, I learned to manage those moments. I became deliriously happy when parents would come up to me after sharings and tell me, "I think my son or daughter may have found their thing." I crafted posters and bought improv books and taught "When I Grow Up" from Matilda 6 different times. My heart sank when a parent missed a final sharing because they didn't know about it and I didn't think to send home a final reminder. I learned to never assume, to always be polite and courteous, even when it isn't reciprocated. I cried after students brought tulips to Anna and I after a final sharing. I learned how to sign in to multiple different school districts while holding boxes of tiaras and wolf costumes. The former later took up a 2-year residency in my Nissan. (The tiaras are receiving a full stipend now.) I smiled when one class volunteered to forgo their spring break plans to practice their play in the Madison Public Library so they didn't have to miss theatre class over spring break. I explained their parents would probably be sad if they had to go to Disney without them. I moved out of classrooms and libraries and gyms at the drop of a hat due to book fairs and faculty meetings. Me and my students (grades K-6) transformed everything from a portables to computer labs into stages. Enter January 2016. Our department got a brand new addition in the form of Education Director, Candice Cooper. As our first summer camp season rolled along and I taught/directed with a fellow teaching artist, my confidence in the classroom grew. There was something in the air that summer. New curriculum. New staff. New beginnings. At the end of summer camp 2015, I hit a major roadblock. My plans to attend graduate school changed at the last minute due to finances. I felt crushed and terrified. I had previously told Fantasy I was leaving, so I wasn't on the roster to teach in the fall. School was out of the question, and I needed a full-time gig. 35+ job applications later, for everything from selling shoes to teaching theatre in West Virginia farm territory, I finally got a bite on an apprenticeship up north. In late August, I met with my two bosses at Fantasy over lunch to supposedly talk about the gig. Over that lunch, they offered me the position of Outreach and Education Coordinator. They were willing to fight for me. I was shocked and completely over the moon. This was an incredible chance. I loved teaching for Fantasy, and they made it clear that would continue into this next year. Enter year two. My time as the Education and Outreach Coordinator feels like four years and yet no time at all as I sit here writing this. I could write a full novel on my time "in the corner," but it would be impossible to do all of it justice, so instead all I will say is, thank you. Thank you, Karen & Candice for making me a part of your team. Thank you for showing me that true leadership isn't forcing and bullying someone into accepting your vision, but rather building people up, forming relationships built on a two-way trust street, maintaining high and exacting standards, but adjusting your sails when the winds don't quite blow your way. Thank you for caring more about our families and students than our own egos. You lead with integrity, joy, and class. You both inspire me to be a better leader and educator every day. To my fellow teaching artists, thank you for sharing your passion and enthusiasm for arts education with our families. I'm proud to have been a member of such an all-star team. In the classroom, after work, in productions, your hearts and professionalism shine. I'll miss you, but look forward to seeing the art you and your students will create. Students, I will miss you. Each and every one of you has left your spirit on my heart these past two years. Thank you for imagining a different world with me, even if it was only for an hour (or six, s/o summer camp!) a day for a few weeks. Thank you for your big hearts, kindness, and work ethic. To my teens, thank you for delving deep, for allowing yourselves to be vulnerable and trusting I had your back. Regardless of where life takes you, I hope the skills you utilized in the classroom and onstage help you shine. I hope our time together has opened your eyes to people unlike yourselves. I'm entrusting you with the great responsibility of not judging others and allowing yourselves to imagine what life and perspective looks like in other's shoes. This job isn't easy, but it's essential, especially since the older generations tend to frequently forget how to empathize with others. We need you to remind us. As for your voice, let it ring. Be humble, caring, and kind, but know your place in the here and now is valuable. YOU are valuable and you have the ability to affect change. Believe in yourself. I believe in you. FPCT, my heart will always bleed purple, orange, and green. Thank you for letting me be a part of your family, in the Academy and on the mainstage. Thank you for being a place where I could be an artist, an educator, and even a mermaid princess. I hope to make you proud in Texas.
1, 2, 3, let the magic continue... until we meet again.
2 Comments
|
Lo & beholdRunning on iced coffee & iambic pentameter. Unabashed worshipper of the holy trinity – Barbra, Bernadette, and Sutton. Archives
May 2017
Categories |