What The Lion King Taught Me

If you've been a faithful reader of mine for a while, you know my 5th and 6th graders put on a spring musical every year. It has become quite the tradition. Over 100 kids auditioned for a part and turned in teacher-signed "contracts" for our elementary school production of The Lion King this year. 

When I posted the cast list after winter break, my classroom door suddenly morphed into the most popular door in the building. Kids would check the cast list a couple of times a day to see who was playing what role or who their understudy was.

We began lunch time rehearsals, and kids would hang around my door again, checking the schedule, dejected if their scene wasn't posted.

"Why can't I come in today?"

"I have 108 kids in the cast. You can’t all come in at once," I explained.

Who ever heard of 6th graders wanting to spend so much time in the music room anyway?

Most of the kids had positive attitudes about their roles (aside from one boy who called me "The Dream Crusher").  Of course, all of the kids sign contracts that say they will accept whatever role they get, and they WILL LIKE IT, dang it!

When we rehearsed the music in class, the kids fell in love with the songs.

One day, a girl walked into my room and announced, "Music just keeps getting more and more exciting!"

After we blocked "The Circle of Life," the 5th graders asked if they could practice it over and over. I have to admit, I also was pretty proud of the way I blocked that particular song.

About a month into our rehearsals, one of the 5th grade teachers told me she and her students were discussing the highs and lows for the day.

"Music was the high for several of them, specifically getting to sing 'The Circle of Life,'" she shared.

I received the cutest Valentine in February that said a bunch of stuff about loving music and ended with, "I can't wait for 'paly!'" I think she meant to write, "play."

If we finished lunch rehearsal early, the 6th grade boys often chose to stay and practice their song and dance numbers instead of heading out to the final minutes of recess.

I, on the other hand, had stress dreams. One recurring nightmare involved none of the classes showing up to our final rehearsals, leaving me standing alone in the dark gym.

"We would never do that to you, Mrs. Duggan," the kids promised.

The cast and I also had fun making the obligatory Star Wars parallels.

"Rafiki is Yoda."

"Simba is Luke Skywalker, obviously."

"Nala is Princess Leia. She even says, 'You're our only hope.'"

"Timon is C-3PO and Pumbaa is R2-D2."

"And Scar is Darth Vader!"

"So the Hyenas are the Storm Troopers?"

"Who would Mufasa be?"

 "Obi-Wan Kenobi," I said. "He was like a father figure to Skywalker."

"Wouldn't that make Mufasa Darth Vader?" one kid asked. "Or is Scar actually Simba's dad?"

We all paused in silence for a moment.

"Okay, let's get back to rehearsal!" I said.

I don't want to give the impression that I put together this whole production by myself. I handled the music and the acting. Everyone else, from the PE teacher to the administrative assistant to the parents to the student teachers to the grade level teachers pitched in with face painting, hair, costume pinning, set design, construction, and choreography. Community theater groups and other elementary schools also allowed us to borrow set pieces and props.

I finished our final dress rehearsal with these words, “This is a beautiful story about the legacy our family members and ancestors leave behind and having to decide whether or not to follow that legacy. Tell that story tomorrow, and you will touch a lot of hearts.”

By the time the morning of the show rolled around, they were ready to tell that story.

A few hours before the A.M. performance, my dad sent me a text before driving up to Boise for the program.

He really did wear this to the performance. Luckily, he wore a more professional looking sweater over it.

The performance was powerful. "Remember who you are . . ." rang out across the school gymnasium.

The production was the perfect illustration as to how the arts can bring kids and communities together, how it teaches children to put aside their differences, solve problems, resolve conflict, and work as a team. 

The day before spring break, my teacher friend walked her class to music and said, "I think I'm having Lion King withdrawals."

"Me too," I sighed.

Later that afternoon, another teacher friend poked her head in my room.

"You haven’t left for spring break yet?" she asked.

"I'm kind of dragging my feet," I confessed. "Leaving the school means I have to say goodbye to The Lion King."
 

I asked my 5th and 6th graders to write letters entitled, "How to Survive the Spring Musical" to next year’s 5th graders.

I discovered maybe they did pay attention to me after all . . . at least occasionally.

"Do what Mrs. Duggan says. She is looking for kids who have positive attitudes and behave all over the school."

"Sing from your heart."

"Don’t complain about the costumes. Parent volunteers have spent a lot of time making those for you. Only say nice things about the costumes like, 'That looks great!'"

"You HAVE to be there for tech week!"

But my favorite was:

"Mrs. Duggan will cry a little, and that means she likes it."

Picture of  me with some of the Lion King cast, signed by the 6th graders

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