Another Day in the Office (and another day older)

Some of you might remember when a number of years ago I was asked to play the role of Jacob in Heritage High School's production of Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat.  Jack, my nephew, as young then as my children are now, came and saw me, acting, even singing, in costume and all made up, and then wondered for months afterwards, whenever I called or planned to see him, whether I was "Old Joey" or the young one.  Sammy even had me call Jack once or twice as the former.

Well, "Old Joey" just made another appearance last weekend, once again as the big man, himself (--this beard keeps doing wonders for me).

The play was Elf, starring Danny Gault, a senior this year at MBS.

And, as you can see, I was Santa (and the narrative frame, as it turns out).

It was great--sure to be as indelibly set in my memory of this trip as any other part of it could be.

I love school productions, partly because I love the stage myself (--and actually conceive my classroom as one), but also because it brings so many types of kids and talents together--together with the brilliance of artists whose work sometimes serves for a pillar of the culture--of world culture--of human BEING.  My joy in drama is akin to my appreciation of a symphony, where so many different instruments and talents merge into a glorious, harmonious whole--e pluribus unum, indeed, and with themes, to boot.

The school play (and here, at MBS, it involves kids of every age), acting, set design, music, tech crew--it is always a reminder of what I am involved in, what school is all about, and why I love my job--love working in the profession of all professions--love my part in shaping the world from the materials offered--love being an artist.  I never leave a performance without feeling enormously proud, in all honesty.

And this time I could play the "old august one" a bit better.  In fact, just yesterday, one of my fellow actors asked me if it was hard to wash my beard clean.  I said it wasn't, and then he, innocent as the day, said, "I can see some of the hair paint still in your beard."  Ha, little jerk.

Anyway, the play was Saturday.  Yesterday was Tuesday.  But it was the day before yesterday, again in relation to a dramatic production, when I felt older than ever before--the flip-side of this coin.  Partially due to my love of the stage and of all it represents, I completely consented a week earlier with the idea of taking my Middle School students, along with the high schoolers, to a filmed production of Frankensein.  Mrs. Niehaus, our school's director and owner, hatched the idea, and I could easily see tie-ins with the novels we just finished studying, so I was a go (--figured it would free me, if nothing else, from the misbegotten tech requirement schools thrust upon their teachers).

Well, it worked on every level, and then some.  It was a professional production from the National Theater in London, a play filmed from various angles, and it starred two well known actors. It was thoroughly wonderful, and I would go to it again and again.  They shaped the story around the monster, which was perfect for the connection to my classes, but, boy, do I wish they were not there, nor would I ever take them again.

You see, in a scene approaching the climax, Victor Frankenstein shows off his new achievement--a woman he is thinking to bring back to life--and I mean, he shows her off: she's topless!  Her breasts are just hanging out there, painted to look like those of a corpse, but nevertheless out there!  At one point, Victor even almost kisses them, inspecting them, and saying, "Who wouldn't love breasts like these?"

Oh, man, what the hell was I doing?  The kids snickered, my kids especially, and I looked around to see if anyone else felt as far out of bounds as I did.  I mean, my students are just 11, 12, and 13 year-olds.  Well, the scene ended quickly, though it felt like an eternity, and I thought, maybe it wasn't too big a deal--not these days, anyway.  Then the next scene had Elizabeth disrobing before her wedding bed.  I nearly got up to complain, but her night-gown stayed on, and the scene seemed to be ending.  Victor had left the room and I breathed a sigh--would you believe it, a sigh of relief?--right in the climax of one of the greatest monster stories ever told--right when, as I knew would happen, the monster was going to come on stage and kill Elizabeth.  The next thing I know, the monster isn't just killing Elizabeth--he's raping her, with the camera angle from above--clothes all on, but explicit in every other way.  Whoa!  I felt old, was old, became older, and could not shake off the shame I felt for bringing, albeit ignorantly, my 7th and 8th grade students to such a display.  I even asked Linda the Friday before, if I could not bring my 6th graders to it.  She said no, on financial grounds merely, and, man, am I glad she did.  It was bad enough--is bad enough.  I wouldn't have brought my AP seniors to it.  Incredible.

Anyway, it's Wednesday.  I did a little damage control--did all I could, and now my next class (seniors) are about to come in, where, of all things, they are about to perform scenes from Othello...

Just another day in the office, and like forty more gray hairs on my head.