The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow . . .

I just finished directing approximately one hundred fifty fifth and sixth graders in Annie, in full costume and make-up, at my public elementary school. Almost one hundred of the one hundred fifty fifth and sixth graders wanted a part in the play, and my policy is if they audition, they get some sort of part. The students who did not audition sang in the chorus. For those of you who have not done the math yet, a majority of my fifth and sixth graders signed up for parts this year.

How was it?

So much fun. 

Maybe it makes me crazy, but I look forward to this part of my job every year. Theater is my thing, man.

One of my teacher friends at the school, who also has a theater background, said she noticed that the kids develop a comradery similar to the bonds theater folks develop while rehearsing and performing in productions, and that connection is what keeps people coming back time and time again to theater. 

I had never thought of it that way before, but she's right. We do become a theater family by the end of all of our lunch time and class rehearsals and "tech week." I experience the same letdown saying goodbye to these elementary school productions as I do saying goodbye to the productions in which I am a performer. 

This year was a special one. But I say that every year. Next year will be special too, I'm sure.

Two of the boys who played Rooster and the police officer talked about how proud of themselves they were for being able to change their expressions and the delivery of their lines every performance, depending on the reaction of the audience. 

"That's called developing a character, guys," I told them. 

"Oh yeah . . . "

Another sixth grader asked me backstage, "Why is the play so short this year?"

"It's not any shorter than last year's play. Time just flies when you're having fun." 

I remember that feeling, putting so much of yourself into a role, learning to trust the other performers and connecting with your castmates on stage, and all of sudden, you are making your final entrance in the final act on closing night.

The kindergarten teacher mentioned that one of her boys announced, "I really liked Annie. I'm gonna marry her." 

"You're a little young to be discussing marriage," the teacher told him.

"But I like her, so I'm gonna marry her."

I also received thank you notes from the first graders, describing how much they enjoyed watching the play.

Then there was the fifth grade boy who kept trying to come to his costume check to get his makeup done an hour early. 

"I don't want to see anyone until 9:15. Go back to class," I would tell him. 

Actually, I had to say this to a lot of kids. I couldn't keep the kids away from my helpers and me. They loved getting into costume and makeup. 

But this particular boy cracked me up because the day after our program, he was still talking about the makeup. I asked the classes to write down one thing they liked, learned, and to compliment somebody. When the students were asked to share their responses, he mentioned getting his makeup done at least five times. 

You might be asking, "But how did a production involving one hundred fifty public school kids, one hundred of which had some sort of part on stage, turn out? Wasn't it just mass chaos?"

I guess I would answer you by saying, I'll just allow the standing ovation we received at the parent performance speak for itself.

Photo credit: Dorothy Cooper

Photo credit: Corrie Butler

Photo credit: Corrie Butler

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Dan Goes to Choir Festival . . . Again (RE-POST from 3/7/15)

It's Festival season, and Dan accompanied me to Choir Festival again this year. However, we did pack the Purell to avoid last year's misfortune (refer to the end of the blog post). Here is last year's story about Dan's adventure with 200+ elementary school choir kids (originally posted 3/7/15).
 

 

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.

Welcome to the 'Burbs: We Can't Figure Out Who We Are

My neighborhood is weird. It doesn't know who it is.

During the last election, we were the district to watch because sometimes we swing a bit . . . to the left or center, that is. In fact, the district two streets away from us actually voted a Democrat into office. I think we may get there someday.

However, the cul-de-sac on our street is like a Tea Party National Convention. "Silence is Consent" and "Protect Your Second Amendment Rights" bumper stickers assault the eyes of any innocent passer-by who dares to venture that direction down the street.

But I'm not here to talk politics. Well, maybe I'm here to talk politics a little. But let's talk neighborhood stereotypes for a minute.

One evening, when my husband, Dan, and I were strolling through our neighborhood, we passed two thirty-something men with girlfriends or life partners/significant others, donning beards and beanies. One guy was dressed in flannel, and one was dressed in camouflage.

"I think his camo is ironic," I said to Dan.

"What's ironic camo?" Dan asked

"Camo without a function. He's wearing it, but it really wouldn't do him any good. Hipster camo."

We also passed a guy with a bunch of tattoos (and a girlfriend) who grinned at Dan and said, "Our chicks dig us."

On another day, I jogged by a guy skateboarding down my street, with a toddler in his arms. For a minute, I thought I was in an episode of Portlandia.

Maybe there's hope, despite the gun-toting Tea Party neighbors down the street. Maybe my neighborhood will be responsible for allowing a few more diverse ideologies to grace our state of Idaho someday.

Then again, Dan and I were walking through our neighborhood the other night and ran across an older gentleman who was wearing a red "Make America Great Again" hat.

Perhaps I spoke too soon. Yikes!

Then there's us. Basically, the cutest couple in the neighborhood.

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