Highlights from the last week
Last Wednesday:
I TOTALLY KICKED ASS AS A THEATRE TEACHER.
I noted student apathy when I visited the Center on Tuesday. I revised my lesson plans accordingly. I got everyone up and involved from the start. I kept everyone involved throughout the entire lesson. I tapped into everyone's enthusiasm and unleashed everyone's latent creativity. IT. WAS. AWESOME.
It was so entertaining that Steve spent the entire afternoon session hanging out with us, instead of handling whatever administrative details he usually handles. And when I executed a quick onstage cameo, he laughed and applauded at my comic exit. And took pictures of me and two of the little kids playing an Old West version of cops and robbers (Sheriff, Cowgirl, and French Robber - characters derived from the hats I found in my closet). It was a wonderful day to be a teacher. :)
Also, I borrowed the high school's English Horn since I am playing in the orchestra pit of this summer's production of The Music Man. English Horn, you are my one true orchestral love.
Last Friday:
I HAD THE MOST AMAZING TEACHING MOMENT IN MY TEACHING CAREER.
We took a field trip to a very small town. After visiting a museum, we went to a park for lunch. Most of the kids gobbled down their lunches and then ran to the playground, but a few of the teen girls stuck around to talk about veganism ("OHMYGOD YOU DON'T EAT CANDY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU"). The conversation was winding down when Steve packed up the coolers and took them back to the vans. While he was gone, one of the kids ran back to us:
"Someone said he doesn't want to play with us because we're black."
My jaw literally dropped. I had half-expected to encounter stares and whispers by bringing a vanload of black kids to a very small and somewhat isolated town in middle America, but I had not genuinely expected a white person to say a nakedly racist thing to a black kid on a playground in the small town America that we're supposed to revere as our moral center.
Needless to say, we were all pissed off and immediately began striding toward the playground. As soon as I began moving, I remembered that I was the only adult around, that the kids would follow my lead, that I'm an avowed pacifist, and that this is the time to emulate Martin Luther King, Jr. and use a devastatingly classy response to dismantle the assumptions and fears that form some of the foundation of racism. So I started reminding the kids that violence is not the answer, that flinging insults is not the answer, that this is an opportunity to show how unfounded racism is.
One of the girls protested. "You don't understand, Miss Hilary. If you were black, you would understand."
At the time I tried to assure that I understand - that I deal with sexism as a woman, that I deal with unfair judgment as a vegan, that I have other beliefs that usually result in unfair judgments. The girl quickly conceded the point. But as soon as I spoke, as soon as I tried to assure her that I understood, I wished that I had conceded the point. Because she's right. When I deal with sexism, I usually deal with guys who think I'm hot and try to impress me based on my appearance, rather than my merit as a person. I occasionally deal with guys who assume that my opinions should be disregarded because I'm a woman. But I've never had to deal with someone who actively disliked me because of my appearance. I don't really understand what it feels like to be disliked because of my appearance, and it was condescending of me to say so, and I really wish I hadn't. That was my lesson for the day: you can sympathize all you want, but that doen't mean you really understand, so keep your mouth shut.
As we got closer to the playground, I kept reminding them that we have to be the more mature, the more respectful, the more ethically exemplary party in this conflict. Surprisingly, it seemed to calm them down a little. Not much, but a little.
We met the girl who had actually heard the remark and asked her who had said it, and she pointed to one or two kids. They were really small; they couldn't have been any older than five. I found myself mentally revising my remarks, because you can't really reason with a kid in the same way that you reason with an adult. A kid is repeating what he has heard; an adult is repeating what he has heard and mentally accepted as absolute truth.
We were starting to discuss our strategy when Steve showed up. He listened for a bit, putting the pieces together on what was going on, and began to point out that children repeat what they hear without really thinking about what they're saying when a redneck with a potbelly approached us. He seemed very deferential, assuring us that he "doesn't tolerate that" and extracting confessions and apologies from the two boys before announcing that they were going home because he "doesn't tolerate that."
The girl who heard the remark immediately accepted the boys' apology. She did it with such instant, immediate forgiveness and such absolute, utter grace that I was blown away. I know of very, very few adults who could offer that kind of genuine forgiveness. It was incredibly humbling, because she wasn't just saying it because it was an unpleasant and awkward situation. She was saying it because she meant it.
I didn't want her to accept the apology, because it wasn't a real apology. The man forced his children to apologize without explaining why they were apologizing, without explaining why it's wrong to judge people based on their skin color, without asking them how they would like to visit a playground full of black children and to have someone tell them that they can't play there because they're white. He didn't teach his children what they did wrong. He didn't ask the girl's name and ask for them to apologize to her personally. He didn't teach them to empathize with others and respect them. He just made them apologize because he wanted to put on a show for us. And although I can't prove it, I strongly suspect that "us" means me and Steve, because we were the only whites and the only adults in our group. I didn't want her to accept the apology because it was a sham apology, a few words tossed out to appease us and try to convince us that his children weren't repeating words that they'd heard from him at home. That still pisses me off.
The man and his two boys moved off. Steve explained that the kids were probably repeating something they had heard, perhaps from the man, perhaps from a family friend, perhaps from a stranger. Gradually, everyone began resuming their playground activities.
But not one girl. She and I have always had problems: she doesn't want to stand in front of the group for public speaking; she doesn't want to do mimes in theatre; she doesn't want to sing in music; she doesn't want to do anything that might put a dent in her cool apathy and unflappable teen detachment. But she stuck around to talk to me.
"Miss Hilary, what would you have done if they hadn't apologized?"
I started giving her a generic answer - be respectful, show them that you are human and you deserve respect. But she stopped me.
"No, what would you have said - exactly?"
Wow. Talk about a spotlight moment.
"Okay." I took a deep breath and tried to come up with an answer that would be worthy of the undivided attention she was giving me. "You just judged me based on my skin color. That is racist, and racism is so 1950s it isn't even funny. But even though you judged me by my appearance, I am going to give you the respect and dignity that you denied to me: I am going to overlook your behavior, and I'm not going to judge you by it. Instead, I'm going to believe that in the future, you won't do it again. In the future, you can remember me, and you can treat others with the same respect and dignity that I'm giving you. Because if you can't do that, then you will never be any better than what you are right now. And all you are right now is the biggest bully on the playground. Congratulations."
It wasn't a great speech. But she listened to it. Really listened to it. Listened to it with the kind of intensity that made me think she was trying to memorize it, trying to think of ways to apply it the next time she encounters a racist remark or action. That, my friends, is humbling and terrifying. It's one thing to explain general principles of nonviolence; it's another to offer a concrete model for a human being who has just been hurt and wants to know exactly how to deal with future instances.
After I finished talking and she finished absorbing, she sighed. "But I can't do that, Miss Hilary! You're smart; you know how to use words. I can't do that."
When she said that, I finally knew exactly what to say. "That's why we have public speaking class. You may never stand onstage and have to face an audience of a hundred people, but you will have to stand up for yourself and face an audience of one person. The more you practice standing onstage and learning how to not be afraid of a hundred people, the more you will be able to stand up for yourself and face one person. The more you learn to think on your feet and find the words to deal with a hundred people, the more you learn to think on your feet and find the words to deal with one person. That's why we have public speaking class. That's why we have theatre class. So when you face situations like this, you can deal with your nerves, and you can think on your feet, and you can find the words to make them feel two inches tall while still preserving your dignity."
She smiled, and she got it. She fucking got it. It was one of the most amazing moments of human connection in my entire life.
After that, the rest of the day was pretty anti-climactic. There were a lot of stares when we piled out of the van at the swimming pool, but there were also a lot of friendly people who were happy to talk to us, happy to lend us their goggles, happy to play water games with us. There were distressingly few stares from Steve in spite of the fact that I looked totally awesome in my swimsuit, but maybe he just snuck them in when I wasn't looking (which was most of the time, because kids demand a lot of attention in the water).
Last Saturday:
Participated in my last official function as area governor by leading an officer training session. I wish I'd spent more time explaining the basics of the program, since so many of the people I was training were completely new to the program, but I think I gave them a lot of useful information about their particular office. And I did it in a fairly entertaining way while fielding smart-aleck comments from a middle-aged guy who was trying to flirt with me. (See, Steve? If middle-aged guys can flirt with me, so can you.)
After training, I bought a digital piano. You can adjust the action on the keys so that it more accurately mirrors a real piano, and it has a string setting that is lush and beautiful and sounds stunningly realistic. It is gorgeous, and I love it, and I have completely blown my voice by constantly playing and singing. I have no regrets.
This Monday:
I introduced my friend to steampunk. She loves it, and we're planning to go to a state convention next April. This has the potential to be totally, utterly, mind-blowingly awesome.
Also, started rehearsals for the play I did this past winter, which we are taking to a festival. Rehearsals are as entertaining as they were this past winter, so this should provide some added fun to my life.