Glow Stick Moments

This post is from our word-ninja, the marvelous Michaela Morton! She is pictured here, in purple, as Deepish in Big Shoes.

Here's what it is to tour with Open Dream: I head down to the pool at 4PM, after a long day of teaching (three grades and four science classes each), performance (one run of Big Shoes at 7:50 AM), and loading out the set. I expect my cast-mates to be lounging. And while they're gleeful in the afternoon sun, they're certainly no lazybones. Marissa started swimming yesterday, and with a team of coaches has gone from barely making it through the pool crosswise to proudly swimming its length. She has also written a re-vamped "Habanera" from Carmen -- now with volcanoes! -- and is rehearsing on a penny whistle while Julianne sings bass. Ted just remembered the answer to a killer question in 4th grade science ("hydroponic bays!" he shouts, apropos of nothing) and while William tries to puzzle out the source of a burn on his arm -- we agree that with her all-seeing logic, Marine would know -- I lie in the sun. Occasionally I do a crunch, just to keep up my end of the bargain. It seems that it's learning and teaching, 24/7, and the work is indeed play.

In one whirlwind month, Big Shoes has gone from bare bones -- the script -- to in-the-flesh live performance. Now you could say that we're toning the muscles. And while hauling sets is definitely tightening our triceps, the heaviest lifting happens in the classroom.

It'd hard to work simply. I've found that it's difficult to heed my own advice -- to bring a playful spirit to work -- as I often get so boggled by the complexity of classroom dynamics that I forget to have fun. And then William brings out his guitar and I can't help having fun. It all just flows. Haydee's craft in the classroom inspires me with its simplicity, and two days in, Julianne has given me words that will stick: "I always think about tempo. Don't push too fast. Don't get frustrated. Keep an even tempo." (She was talking about swimming, but it works for teaching, too.)

I'll let you in on a secret: in college, people used to ask me whether I was going to be a teacher. It's something about English majors: we get that question, all the time, and I do mean all the time. My answer was usually a definite, emphatic, let's-change-the-subject-now kind of "No." Once or twice I might have said, "Maybe college, maybe when I'm older, maybe someday, but it's not in the cards for now." Given my reluctance, it was almost inevitable that I'd be teaching right out of college. And I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised at how delightful that has been.

Today, we asked a group of 5th graders to unpack a definition of decomposers. Quinn raised his hand and asked if he could explain. He told us that decomposers are like the linking pieces that connect a chain of glow sticks. Without them, you might as well leave the sticks alone. With them, you can turn a flat line into a circle of light.

My new name for moments of magic in the classroom: glow stick moments. And these kids are lighting the way already.