L.C. Hamilton's Blog, page 4

Casting the Kids Who Need it the Most

It was my first year as a Theatre Arts Learning Specialist – my first year teaching, period – and I was facing a major rite of passage: casting a show for the first time at my new school.

This was not a large production. It was a short scene that the twelve Peer Leaders would put on for the rest of the student body at their next assembly. This certainly wasn’t my first rodeo, either. I had worked in the realm of children’s theatre for over seven years before I landed this position. But this time it was different.

This time the principal was watching.

As the students took turns reading for me, I was very aware of the fact that the principal knew each one of these students personally. She had known them for years. I did not even know their names. I had only worked at this elementary school for a few of weeks.

Now the principal would see me in action for the first time. Would the months of advocating for my position be worth the time and effort? Would the gamble of hiring a teacher from across the country after a single phone interview pay off?

Most of the Peer Leaders were straight-A students who were confident readers. They read with admirable diction and impressive articulation. They politely thanked me for my time and sat down.

Then there was Jimmy.

He trembled as he stood before me, his face achieving a shade of embarrassed red that I hadn’t even known possible for the human complexion. He shifted uncomfortably and read with a stutter. He giggled anxiously and apologized every time he mispronounced a word. He was sweating before he even started.

When all of the students finished reading, the principal turned to me and asked, “So who would you like to play the main character in this scene?”

I answered without hesitation, “Jimmy.”

I could see the surprise in the principal’s eyes, but she rolled with the punches. We passed out the scripts and the students left. When they were gone, the principal asked, “Jimmy?”

I nodded. “He needed it the most,” I said.

The next day Jimmy came to practice with a battered and wrinkled script that had to be re-stapled twice. He had clearly read it many times. He was completely memorized from day one.

Something magic happened to Jimmy.

Jimmy was a big kid, a slow reader. He was a sixth grader who had never been involved in any extracurricular activities outside of the Peer Leader group. He played no sports and struggled in school. He had been told “no” many times in his life and had come to accept that he simply wasn’t remarkable.

Then Jimmy heard a “yes” in an unexpected place. That “yes” got down inside him, deeper than all the doubt, and it changed him. The change was visible, immediate, and profound.

Jimmy was a delight to work with. He was enthusiastic and dedicated. The more he repeated his lines, the less he stuttered. He learned to plant his feet. He spoke loud and clear (he told me that he practiced in his garage at home so he could hear his voice echo).

When the assembly came, Jimmy calmly and confidently delivered a stellar performance. When he heard the applause of his peers, his eyes lit up. I knew that the Theatre Bug had bit him good.

Jimmy auditioned for the fall production and landed a major role. As the main comic relief, he ran in circles, threw himself on the floor, wept crocodile tears, laughed belligerently, and cracked joke after joke. The audience cheered his every entrance.

I don’t take credit for Jimmy’s transformation. A very similar thing happened to me when I was about his age. I call it the Theatre Bug. But it’s bigger than just the theatre. It happens in band, orchestra, choir, dance, visual arts; it’s a single “yes” that turns into a thousand possibilities. It encourages, it transforms, it transcends.

I have a very special opportunity as the gate keeper of my school’s theatre and drama program. May I never forget to say “yes” to the students who need it the most.