It’s 4:14 in the afternoon and I could have been home a while ago. Instead I’m sitting in the schools weightroom and the dancers for the play I am co-directing are practicing their moves. I’m pretty sure I look like I have no business being here. I feel like the lame white guy sitting in the back of a room full of hip teenagers that are trying out for America’s Next Best Dance Crew.
I occasionally get in the way. Someone will bump into me or catch me or step on my foot.
Three years ago my wife and I took a small group of students to see a play at a local high school and one of them ended up writing his own play after being so inspired by what he saw. He and I have rewritten the play over the past few years and this year (his senior year) we are putting it on. The school has even given me a class to practice during. I feel like I may have told some of this before. Anyway, we’ve been practicing every day during the last period of the day. He (we’ll call him D) loves this stuff and has been running the class. I ‘m more like the guy that makes things happen. Yeah that’s the ticket. I’m like Oz. D knows the play backwards and forwards so I just help where I can and offer technical advice and motivation.
It’s really something. It’s a class for the kids by the kids. Kid written. Kid performed. Kid choreographed. Students working together and motivating each other because they want to to create something as a group for the school. Everyday eleventh period. Twice a week after school and on Sundays. Awesome!