Treefort Music Fest Pre-Post

I will be publishing another post about my Treefort Music Fest experience, but until then, here are a few pictures from the event. Explanations of the photos may or may not appear in my next post. You'll just have to read it to find out.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Oliver Top Fives

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blog post about my preparations for the spring musical at my school. I am happy to say that it happened, it was successful, and it remained drama-free. (I'm still convinced it is because boys made up the majority of the cast.)

Anyone who has been on stage is familiar with the pre-show pressure of theater. And anyone who has been on the stage knows theater people thrive on this. I love it, even at my elementary level productions.

This time, the pre-show adrenaline rush consisted of convincing almost one hundred girls to pull pioneer skirts up to their natural waists. They attempted to wear the skirts like modern day clothing, around their hips. Then they would tie their aprons higher, at their waists, causing the skirts to fall down.

"You know, women used to wear their skirts above their belly buttons," I told the girls.

"That feels weird."

"They wore things that felt a lot weirder than that in Victorian England," I said.

My parent volunteers and I also gave several kids a course in Clothes Hanging 101. One boy never quite caught on.

"Why aren't your clothes on the hangers?" I asked him at the end of a performance.

"They are."

"This is the strangest hanging job I've ever seen."

I'd hate to see what some of these kids' closets look like.

Here are some of my favorite moments from the performance this week.

1. Runaway Hair
During the morning performance, the little boy playing the villain lost his chest hair when he was carted off by the police. Yes, we taped fake chest hair to this child, who was also wearing a muscle shirt. (His idea, by the way.) At the end of the afternoon show, he ripped the hair off on purpose and swung it over his head. The audience went wild.

Another boy also lost his mustache during his scene, and it got stuck to the locket he was holding. I grabbed the mustache about the same time we both realized he had forgotten to bring the fake money he was supposed to throw on the ground.

"Throw the money," I whispered to him.

"I can't!" he said through gritted teeth. "I forgot it!"

"Someone pass him some money," I whispered to the people backstage.

All of a sudden, Oliver (who had just been kidnapped in the previous scene) sneaked up on stage and handed him some money. Gotta love live theater!

2. Just One More Day
The day after the play, I was greeted by a classroom teacher telling me she wished the kids could have one more day of performances. The kids always echo this sentiment, but I would think classroom teachers would want the schedule to return to normal.

One of our custodians found me in my classroom, excited that she had been rushed by a bunch of kids, chattering on and on about the play.

"They were so excited, even the next day!" she told me. "That means it was a huge success!"

3. One Thing I Liked
In class the morning after, I asked my fifth and sixth grade students to write down at least one thing they liked about the musical. More than one student said they liked putting on stage makeup that made them look dirty.

4. Compliment Someone
I also asked the students to compliment one person in the show. Several of them chose to compliment me instead of one of the cast members.

"But you're the ones who put it on, not me," I said. "I just helped put it together. It was your show, not mine."

5. Oops
Apparently, we were using a Crown Royal bag as a coin purse. Whiskey's not my thing, and since a ten-year-old brought it in for us to use in the play, I didn't bother to read what was printed on it.

I didn't realize until a teacher pointed it out in a fit of laughter the next day.

"Well, that would have been quite a catch for the pickpockets," another teacher said. "Crown Royal is pretty elite."

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

My Quiet Husband

My husband, Dan, has a strange definition of "conversation." He truly believes he is talking to people when he is not.

It's fine with me. I always liked guys who didn't talk. In grade school, I wrote in my Ramona Quimby Diary that I liked another boy in my class "because he's quiet." Even at age eight, I knew what I wanted in a man.

But the funny thing is he overestimates the amount of talking he actually does.

If you ask him about the first time we talked, he will tell you that it was during a get together at his apartment. I was looking through instrument magazines, and he was playing around on his electric guitar.

During that encounter, I was actually talking to the girl sitting beside me about the magazines, and Dan was staring at the two of us while he played around on his guitar. I don't recall him saying anything to either one of us girls.

Fast-forward a few years later . . .

My principal asked me one afternoon, "Is your husband really quiet? I said, 'hi,' and he acted like, 'please don't talk to me.'"

"Yeah, that's him," I said. "He's not that shy. He just doesn't like to talk."

"That's fine. My wife's the same way," my principal said.

When I told Dan what my principal had said, he insisted, "But I did say, 'hi.' In fact, I said it first."

"I don't know that it's coming across that way," I said.

A few weeks ago at church, we heard about a couple giving up dinner in front of the T.V. for Lent. They decided they would eat facing one another and make conversation.

"We talk," Dan said when I lamented our T.V. tray evenings.

"Here is my version of conversation," I moved hands like a puppet and said, blah-blah-blah-blah, really fast, "Here's yours," and I sat in complete silence.

 

"No, mine is something more in the middle," Dan said, laughing. "Do you want to stop watching T.V. at dinner?"

"No way. We have too many shows to get through. Besides," I added, "we wouldn't have a place for our greenhouse if we clear the table."

Did I mention that our kitchen table is covered in houseplants?

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Dan Goes to Choir Festival . . . Again

A couple of years ago, I wrote a blog post called "Dan Goes to Choir Festival."

Well, my husband, Dan, still goes with me to Choir Festival, and we just had our concert on Tuesday night.

He still records the concert.

He still hands out and collects the choir vests.

He still teaches my students how to hand the vests in neatly at the end of the concert and refuses to take the vests if they are just thrown at him.

This year, Dan and I enjoyed watching my little characters.

Before the concert, I heard singing from the seats in the auditorium, that kind of singing you hear on the bus to summer camp.

I realized it was my choir kids, singing show tunes, specifically the songs from Oliver! They know the songs from Oliver! because it is the spring musical this year. But how cool is it that they sing when they don't even have to?

I don't have a problem with bored-looking students in my choir either. In fact, I couldn't keep them from moving while singing the festival pieces. They came up with most of the actions in their songs.

The good thing about my little characters is that, since they are choir kids by choice and not by demand, they want to be there. They listened to the clinician. They were a polite audience for the other choir. It was hot under the stage lights, but they didn't complain.

"Go hand your vest to Mr. Duggan," I whispered as they exited the stage at the end of the concert.

"That's your husband?" one new-to-choir girl said in awe.

I have one more festival Saturday morning, which Dan will not be attending . . . because . . .

Within twenty-four hours of hanging out with two-hundred-plus children, Dan came down with a stomach flu. It seemed similar to the one that had been passed around our school over the last few months.

After that, Dan may not go to Choir Festival again next year.

Or maybe we'll just pack the Purell.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Sorry, Girls: How I Discovered I Liked Working With Boys Better

It pains me to admit this, but I like working with boys better.

Girls are mean and manipulative.

Before you take away my feminist card, ask me, "What is the context of this observation?"

My fifth and sixth graders perform in a spring musical every year. You might remember that last year, they put on The Wizard of Oz.

This year, they are presenting Oliver, which means I am working with lots of little boys.

Over the years, I have discovered that even nice girls turn a little nasty when given the right circumstances. I have encountered girls who have tried to sabotage my leads or have posted rumors on social media or have told their parents lies about me because they wanted a role I didn't give them.

This year (so far—knock on wood), I have had none of those problems. And I believe it is because my leads are boys.

Growing up, I was never one of those annoying girls who said, "I get along soooo much better with boys. All of my best friends are boys."

I was awkward around boys too.

But my handful of girlfriends were not the typical mean girls who gossiped, manipulated, played mind games, or treated people badly when they were jealous. Our mothers didn't raise us that way. And I have stayed friends with them for decades, across state lines and sometimes oceans, for that reason.

Back to the play . . .

The boys who auditioned were competitive. They wanted certain parts, but they accepted what they got, even though I have heard reports of a few tears at home. But they came back to school perfectly happy and with great attitudes.

The boys take direction well. They are willing to try new things even if it make them look silly. Some days, they might complain about not getting enough lunch recess, or they might run around on my risers instead of listening to acting notes. But I prefer that any day over the weird, arms folded in front, stoop-shouldered, angsty posture I often get from sixth grade girls.

My boys jump at the chance to wear stage makeup and costumes, whereas I have heard every excuse in the book from my girls as to why they can't wear makeup or certain costumes. I even added a clause in our "contract" about wearing "WHATEVER Mrs. Duggan says or you will not be cast."
I try to only cast kids who display good character and integrity, but I have found with girls, it is not always enough.

When one little girl was too embarrassed to hug Oliver during a final scene, another boy lead said with a shrug, "I'll hug Oliver."

Boys are awesome.

What am I doing next year, you might ask?

Annie.

Leapin' lizards!

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.