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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