Scott Simon with his child, Elise, throughout the vacations.
Caroline Simon.
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Caroline Simon.
Scott Simon with his child, Elise, throughout the vacations.
Caroline Simon.
‘T is the season of school programs, in between Thanksgiving and the winter season vacations.
I like seeing kids onstage, dressed up as trees, horses, gangsters, mad researchers, caterpillars or sugar plum fairies; and figures from the bibles, literature, and history. I like seeing kids in long, white cotton-ball beards, or under cardboard crowns or tri-cornered hats; shoulders curtained in royal bathrobes, shepherd’s smocks, or an uncle’s old, fit coat.
I like to hear trainee orchestras tune up, striking leading notes with guinea-pig screeches. I like to see moms and dads and family members push one another when their kid has a line to recite. I treasure those minutes you can often capture, in the flick of a teary eye, when a costumed grade schooler squints into the dark seats and after that illuminate at the peek of a moms and dad, grandparent, auntie, uncle, or good friend.
I like the enjoyment, the distressed laughter, the elbow pokes for missed out on lines, the microphones rustling in the folds of outfits, the trainee vocalists grabbing notes from their toes, even if there’s a small fracture at Middle C. I like to see young stars speak lines for the very first time onstage from Shakespeare, Dickens, or Hansberry; Bible verses, nursery rhymes, or a homegrown work by some 6th grade scrivener who desires remind grown-ups of the genuine significance of hope this season.
I often feel for trainees who get cast to play a press reporter. “Here we are, reside in Bethlehem,” they may need to state, or claim to report from the moon, or ancient Rome, or Neverland. Every other kid in the production gets to use a tunic, a poodle skirt, or a donkey head. However our press reporter gets handed a mic (that’s not even plugged in) and a fedora with a press card, and informed, “Pretend you’re on CNN.”
I like to see trainees play grownups. They might stand straight and deepen their voices and after that pretend to be exasperated, baffled or ridiculous. You might start to make fun of their act up until you ask yourself: wait … did they see that in me?
And I like those minutes when a trainee sings, dances, or provides lines with such skill and conviction, you stay up and understand all over once again how kids mature, and become their own masterpieces.
Our youngest child is a high school junior now. My better half and I recognized this year that we have just a couple of more school reveals delegated see. That’s the spell of theater, and of youth: for a while, it absolutely perks up and immerses you. And after that, the drape closes, leaving you with memories.