Challenging the
Treasure…Through Pre-Performance Jitters
“How many are out there waiting for the curtain to open?”
hesitantly queried a slightly nerve-stricken first grader.
“Looks like a million, cuz I just peeked,” her
not-so-reassuring best friend co-cast member cringed.
“A million or one, it makes no difference as long as you
look over their heads and project to the exit sign on the back wall. Just
whatever you do, don’t look into their eyes cuz that’s when you forget
everything,” sprightly piped in the resident class aspiring Broadway star.
“I feel sick. Really, really sick. Oooooo, my stomach!” whimpered the friends.
***Pause the story***
This is not an unusual conversation to have or to hear backstage
just prior to a performance. The rumbling tightness in a tummy before a show,
sometimes called butterflies, sometimes called stage fright, sometimes called
the jitters, is just the adrenalin running through the body getting a performer
ready to do his or her very best by focusing attention on all that must be
remembered. Understanding this and performing through the tummy tightness is
very empowering and confidence boosting regardless of the age of the performer.
The subsequent uproarious applause is glorious and affirming and is truly a
sound everyone needs to hear as a recipient at some point in their lives, for
the echoes of applause ripple through one’s memory forever. Thirty years of
writing, directing, and accompanying children’s musical plays have given me an
excellent glimpse into the power of the performing arts to reach, touch, and
transform a child, a cast, an audience, a director. Perfection? That’s never
the goal; never even mentioned.
Collaboration, cooperation, full participation, and best efforts all
around comprise the perfectly worthy and
always attained expectations.
***Resume the story***
“Deep breath. Think about all of our practices and remember
how good you all are together. We’re a team. And we’re fabulous. Your families
and friends can’t wait to see all that you all know!” cheered this teacher.
Just as our rumbling tummy tightness group was focusing on
preparing to cast their eyes above the audience heads and in the process
forgetting the rumbling, which by the way focusing does, the backstage door
burst open and in sprinted a very panicky first grade cast member mother.
“Jane has the chicken pox; the doctor just confirmed it.
She’s devastated. And I am so so very sorry. I have to run, she’s in the car,”
gasped the mom as she turned and dashed out stage left.
“Send her a hug from us,” we offered to the whoosh that was
her mother exiting.
Backstage silence. Ashen-faced cast. Wide-eyed shock.
Breathless pause on the brink of tears.
Jane was the lead forest animal and had a solo to sing.
This teacher dared the question, “Who can do Jane’s part?”
Momentary backstage silence filled with dubious anticipation
weighed rather heavily on the question, until a soft, unexpected voice in the
very back simply said, “I can. I will do my part, and I can do Jane’s, too. I
learned everyone’s lines.” Focus
returned. The show went on. Confidence soared. And the chicken pox ran its course.
