I'm Awake!

Last night I ventured downtown to see VaRep's summer offering "Spring Awakening". I wasn't really sure what to expect. I knew about the partial nudity. I knew about the language. I knew about the "master of my domain" scene. I'm 48, but I'm no prude, and I love all kinds of music. Plus, I won free tickets, so I made the reservations to go. Now, before I go any further, this is not going to be a review of the production. This is going to be a post about what this production "Awakened" in me. I, like many others I am sure, who had never seen this musical had some misconceptions about it. For one, I did not know it took place in Germany in the 1890's. I assumed, incorrectly, because it was a rock musical, it took place in the present day. Yes, the music is very much present day, and the score rocks, but the theme of the music is timeless, and that's what I discovered last night. I also thought that the title was about the "awakenings" of youth and youth only, but after seeing the show last night, I realized how very much it is about awakening feelings and thought in the way we treat our children and youth as parents, teachers, coaches and mentors. I left the theater entertained, but as I began to think about the show it pressed upon me how very relevant it is today, especially in light of the issues this country seems to be split right down the middle about right now. I woke up early this morning and lay in my bed thinking how much damage we, as adults, do to our children, not just in the obvious ways of physical abuse, or verbal abuse, but the damage we do with our lack of communication, our silence, our turning a blind eye and feigning ignorance. To use modern terms: SPOILER ALERT. I watched this cast of very passionate young people last night reveal to each other on stage and in turn to me in the audience their very real hurts and angst and wonder and curiosity. The play starts with a budding ( her mother's descriptive reason as to why a childhood dress can no longer be worn) young girl, Wendla, questioning her mother as to where babies come from. Her mother is obviously uncomfortable with the subject. She would prefer that Wendla be satisfied with, "The stork has visited your sister." At Wendla's insistent pleas, her mother finally gives in. However the explanation she gives comes nowhere near what actually happens to create life. As the play goes on we meet several characters who are dealing with their own "awakenings." Moritz, who's having a hard time focusing on his studies because he is plagued with the dreams that all young boys have as their bodies change. Melchior is the free thinker, the major crush, the unbridled spirit. He and Wendla connect and discover each other one day. This results in a pregnancy, and Wendla cannot believe she's having a child. When it finally dawns on her that the afternoon of pleasure she enjoyed with Melchior is what gave her the child, she is shocked! Her mother is ashamed and appalled that Wendla would do such a thing. Does it open a dialogue? Is there a flood of forgiveness? No, more silence, and more shame. In fact, the running theme for me was silence and the damage it does. People suffering in silence, ashamed and made to feel bad for the natural feelings that everyone has. The silence of a mother who turns a blind eye to the sexual abuse of her daughter at the hand of her father. Enduring it all because we were taught to be good little girls and boys, and polite, mannerly children don't even think these things, let alone speak of them. The sad thing is, nothing's changed since the 1890's for some. If you had changed the clothes and the language of the actors, it could have been a very believable reality series about the teens of today. Why are we so afraid to be honest with our children? We were children. We were teens. We felt exactly what they are feeling. Why is it so hard for us to talk to them about it? I am amazed at the number of teen girls my girls know that have never had a conversation about sex with their parents. People take a lesson from Wendla and her mother. Just because you don't talk about it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Wake up!

You get a line, and I'll get a pole, honey!

I have shared many times before in this blog that I am a TV person. I grew up a TV kid, and I am an avid television watcher today. There are a few shows, mostly classic, that I can watch over and over again. The Andy Griffith Show is one of them. The early black and white episodes are the ones I enjoy the most! If you are not familiar with The Andy Griffith Show, it was a show about a fictional town called Mayberry, NC. The show centered around the "sheriff without a gun", Andy Taylor, and his relationship with the citizens of the town. Mayberry was not a dangerous town, hence the "without a gun" part. Andy was there to keep peace. He was smart as a whip, but he would never lord that over anyone. In fact he played the "country bumpkin" quite well when appearing that way served his purpose. The chemistry on screen between him and his deputy, Barney Fife, expertly played by Don Knotts was magic! Mayberry had lots of characters. Some of my favorites? Opie - Andy's son, Otis - the town drunk, Ernest T. Bass - a wild, true to the term hilbilly and who can forget The Darlings? a family that Andy came in contact with when they had booked a hotel room for one, and the whole family of 6 was staying there. I could go on, but the glue that held this eclectic bunch together was Andy. He was always there to impart wisdom to Opie, get Barney out of a jam, scheme against the stingy department store owner to help out his door-to-door salesman friend, do a little pickin' on the porch after dinner or telling a story as only Andy could.

Since the show ran from 1960-1968, and I was 5 when it went off of the air, I am sure I do not remember the shows from their original air dates, but I grew up with the re-runs, and Mayberry became a town that I visited often. Even today when I am channel surfing, if I see Andy Griffith, I'll stop there and watch the episode. Andy Taylor was a lot of things to his viewers, a trusted friend, a friendly face, a loving father, and all because Andy griffith played Sheriff Taylor with such skill and natural ability that we felt like we knew him.

It is a gift when an actor creates a world for his audience that you absolutely feel a part of. I did feel a part of Andy's world, and when I learned this morning that we lost Andy Griffith, I cried because I had lost a friend. My sister said on her Facebook that Andy always seemed immortal to her. It's true. He was one of those iconic characters that you thought would never die. Another friend posted, "R.I.P. Andy Griffith. May you find that fishin' hole in the sky fully stocked." You get a line, and I'll get a pole.

Do Orange Jumpsuits Come in Junior Sizes?

Riding on the School Bus was never something I wanted to do. As a child, I attended private school from kindergarten to 4th grade. We did not have transportation provided to us. The private school I attended was an all girls school. We were not only taught academics but also manners and how to act respectfully toward others. Some would think this archaic, but I appreciated it and know that it laid a wonderful foundation for the person I became. When my parents moved away from the city the summer of my 4th grade year, I knew that I would be riding the School Bus come fall. This didn't disturb me at all as I had been surrounded for the last 5 years with students who acted like human beings. There was no such thing as talking back or mouthing off to a teacher or anyone in authority. We acted like civilized people. I will never forget the second day I rode home on the bus from elementary school. As I sat there, I felt something pinching the backs of my heels. It was two sixth grade girls who crawled on the nasty, dirty floor of the school bus under the seats until they reached mine and pinched me. I had no idea why until I got off the bus.  As I stepped off the bus I said "Thank You," as I had the day before to the bus driver. Today they echoed behind me in a mocking voice, "Thank you," and laughed. I had been convicted  of the crime of being polite to the bus driver. I hated the bus from that day until I stopped riding in 8th grade when we moved out of the district. 
I'm sure by now most of you have seen the video of the elderly school bus monitor who is being tormented with a barrage of insults and taunts from several middle school boys. The video goes on for over 10 minutes. I couldn't stomach any more than 3. They never let up and the entire time they are laughing with pride at themselves and how cool they are. People, of course, are outraged! As well they should be. They have even started a fundraiser to send the monitor on a wonderful vacation. At the writing of this post they have raised more than $140,000 and still counting. That's great, and I'm glad she's getting something out of this, but it doesn't solve the problem. 
Now, this is the part where I'm sure I'm going to get some criticism, but that, my friends, is exactly part of the problem. Parents have raised a generation of kids that they never disciplined or taught them how to behave because they were afraid the child wouldn't like them or be their friend or, they were afraid of what other people would think of them or worse yet, it was just too much trouble to follow through. I am great friends with both of my girls and I love them dearly, and they love me, BUT you can ask either of them, and they will tell you that when they were growing up, I would not hesitate to call them out if they were misbehaving. I didn't care who was watching, their friends, my friends, teachers, whomever. My kids don't hate me for it. They know I cared enough about them to make them behave. I tell this story all the time, and you may choose to believe it or not, but when my girls were going through the middle school system, I was also working as a high school and middle school secretary. I remember the teenage girls that were sent to the office  on a dress code violation. Most of them looked like they had just come off the night shift of street walking rather than attending school.  They were always given the option to call their parents for something else to wear. That meant that their parents would have to leave their jobs to bring them clothes. One particular day, a girl was sent down to the office with a skirt on that looked more like underwear. There were no administrators available. That left her with me and my particular brand of consequences for the offense. I instructed her to wait while I went to the back of the office. I returned with a gym suit and told her to change.  She had a horrified look on her face. She told me she didn't want to wear the gym suit. I responded to her that she should have thought about that before she left the house that morning dressed as she was. I refused to let her call her parent. She opted to wait in the office until an administrator would give her a different option. I went home and told both of my girls that if I ever got a call from an administrator at work that they were wearing anything close to what that girl was wearing in my office that day, that I would not bring them a change of clothes and for the next week they would wear a Pilgrim dress to school including the hat. I'm sure a lot of you are thinking, She wouldn't do that! The difference? My girls knew that I absolutely would do that without question. (By the way, neither one of them has ever violated the dress code.) People will argue that teenagers act the way they do because they're teenagers and middle school is a rough time for everyone! I totally agree that middle school is rough, but we are still human. We should still have compassion for each other. Nothing excuses what those boys were doing on that bus!! When I was working a middle school office, every juvenile delinquent loved me! They would come into the office every morning to say hi. The girls would ask me if what they were wearing was okay, and they wouldn't even think of using profanity in my presence. Why? Because they knew I would not let them be that way, not because I was a mean old bitty that worked behind the desk but because I cared about the kind of people they needed to be. I'm not a miracle worker, and I am not writing this to say I have all the answers, but we have got to start raising children to respect the people around them, and, just as importantly themselves. 
What would I have done in the situation? As the bus driver, I would have pulled over as soon as I could do so safely. I would have called every boy up to the front of the bus and told them to get off of the bus. I would then have stood on the side of the road with the boys, called the Principal to come and get them and then continued my route. As the principal, I would have taken the boys back to the office and had them wait in my office while I called each one of their parents. We would wait there until all parents had arrived, and then we would all have a private screening of the video that had just been shot of their cruelty. If technology was available we would watch on the big screen. Then each boy would be suspended starting at the beginning of the first two weeks of the following school year at which time they would return to school on the third week and they would be wearing an orange jumpsuit (They might as well get used to the color. It will probably be their attire for some of their adult life if they continue on the path they are on) with the words BULLY emblazoned on the back for a week. For immediate justice, they would spend the summer washing school buses and finally, they would never be allowed to ride a school bus again! Sound rough, huh? Maybe it would make them think about what they've done, maybe not, but at least they would know that their choices have consequences, and bad choices breed bad consequences!

Savage Taxidermy in Onancock

I became a single working mother, quite unexpectedly, when my youngest was 2 years old. Needless to say, because of work schedules and re-entering the work force in a brand new job, I didn't have a lot of vacation time. Later when I started working for the school system, I had my summers off, but that left no personal time during the school year to do parent things like being room mother, or yearbook coordinator or chaperoning field trips. 14 years have gone by since then, and I have earned enough vacation time that I was able to take a day this past weekend to chaperon a school trip for my daughter. The last time I chaperoned anything for her was 2nd grade and their field trip to the theatre. I have written about my baby before, and most of you know she is a singer. Music is extremely important in her life. She is a member of her school's Honors Choir and she is also a member of their Beauty Shop quartet. For those who don't know, Beauty Shop is the female counterpart to Barber Shop. This is her second year participating in that group. She auditioned as a freshman and got the baritone voice part. This year she auditioned and was switched to lead. She is also the only one of all 8 singers, men and women, who is returning for the 2012/2013 school year. All the others were seniors this past year and have graduated. All of this meant that both groups were brand new. As the veteran, my daughter asked if I would chaperon. I said yes, and last Thursday we all embarked on our voyage to Salisbury, MD to Harmony College for 3 days of BARBERSHOP! Harmony College is a program that is sponsored by the Mid-Atlantic Barbershop Harmony Society and brings High School and College quartets from around the country together for their Youth in Harmony program. The weekend is definitely about singing but so much more. The students have the chance to bond with each other in dorm living and spend 3 days pretty much functioning as a unit. There is very little time to do anything else but attend classes, coaching sessions, and practicing what they've learned to use for their performance on Saturday night.
 The drive took about 5 hours with tunnel traffic, and there were 5 of us ladies in a Toyota Camry. Thank God my brother-in-law let me borrow his car because mine is a Yaris. The girls quartet was formed 3 weeks ago. In 3 weeks, along with final exams, they had to learn a song in barbershop harmony [which, let me tell you, is not easy, my friends], teach 4 new voices to blend together, shop for outfits and shoes, and rehearse, rehearse, rehearse. Our route to Maryland was via Route 13 through the Eastern Shore. Not really a mecca of activity. The drive was dotted with Walmarts and Antique Stores and the ever popular Savage Taxidermy in Onancock, VA. We all got a giggle out of that one. We finally arrived around 10PM and got our keys and headed to our dorms. I was rooming with the mom chaperoning the boys, and we ended up talking until 1 AM, not the brightest idea, since we had to be up at 6AM, but we became fast friends, or as my daughter called us, "besties". I attended a few of the coaching sessions with the girls, and I watched as each one of the girls came into their own. By the time they performed on Saturday night they embodied their name, Perfect Fit. I was so proud. The boys were amazing as well and we rocked the house! I was so thrilled to be able to share that experience with my daughter! We left for home on Sunday a different group than we had started. 4 girls and guys who knew each other before are now friends, and I have 7 new children! I can't wait to see what the year holds for them!

Take a breath!

My Daddy as a young man

This blog post is going to deal with something that has been on my heart for the last several days. I'm not really sure why, but I have been thinking about my father's death lately. I have wrestled with the idea of writing this post because, I know, to some, it will sound preachy. Many of you who read this will dismiss it in the "that's none of your business" category, but, regardless of the reaction this post may receive, I am still writing it.
I lost my daddy in 2007, officially, but I really lost him 3 or 4 years before that. I don't mean I physically lost him as one can only die once, but his quality of life deteriorated greatly as his disease progressed. My father had COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease). Some people know it more commonly as Emphysema. Emphysema is actually under the COPD banner. In layman's terms, he had problems breathing. He contracted this disease from smoking cigarettes for many years.
My dad started smoking in his teens way before anyone knew the effects smoking had on our health. In fact, you can even find some old ads where doctors recommend smoking to patients for better health. My father grew up in the age when smoking was cool. All of the leading men and ladies of the day were onscreen smokers. The other day, I was watching a Dick VanDyke episode that centered around a dinner party. The screen was literally filled with smoke as the party goers in the scene lit up. You hardly ever see a TV character on television who smokes anymore, and if you do, they are usually the "bad" boy or girl. As a child, both my parents smoked, and I grew up with it as a constant in my life. I will share something with you. I have never smoked ANYTHING in my life. A cigarette has never touched my lips. I live in dread for the day when I audition for a role, and it will require me to smoke. I'm sure some of you find that hard to believe, but it's true. I have never had the desire to even try it. Maybe that's because I was around it all my life. Over the course of my childhood and teen years, my dad tried to quit several times. It wasn't until I was a senior in high school when my father's doctor told him he had to have a bypass because he had Atherosclerosis - a condition worsened by smoking where plaque attaches to the arterial walls making blood flow difficult. Add to that the fact that smoking was causing his veins to constrict therefore making it even harder for the blood to flow through his veins increasing his chances for stroke or heart attack. After that surgery, my dad quit for good after being a heavy smoker for more than 30 years. Unfortunately, by then, damage had already been done. He would not realize this until years later.
In 1998 when my husband left, my girls and I had to move in with my parents. My dad became the only father figure my girls really had. They were 2 and 5, and "Papa", that's what they called him, was their "Daddy" My dad was at home and able to take care of them because he had been on disability for many years due to his rheumatoid arthritis. My girls were very close with him, and I thank God that they had those years to get to know their grandfather before the COPD really took hold of him. He adored them and was able to spend their elementary years with them in fairly good health. When my dad was first diagnosed with COPD, he did breathing treatments, much like asthma patients, with a machine and Albuterol. He also had an inhaler. As the disease got worse, he would spend hours in his recliner in the den hooked up to his oxygen machine. The stairs became a problem as he could barely breathe from the small amount of physical exertion. A hospital bed was moved into the living room on the first floor, and that became his bedroom. His oxygen tube was now a permanent accessory. I lived in the basement apartment just below the floor my dad was on. I remember one night waking to a loud thud on the floor. I tore up the stairs. My father had gotten entangled in his oxygen hose on the way back from the bathroom and fallen. As I ran into the living room looking for the source of the noise, I saw my dad on the floor sitting cross-legged. He was in a panic. In the fall, his oxygen hose had gotten disconnected from the machine. He was gasping for air. Of course the panicking was making it worse. Through short, raspy breaths he asked me to get a reserve tank. For something that's filled with air they are really heavy! In the rush, I dropped it on my foot. I'm amazed I didn't break a bone. We got it hooked up, and he began to calm down and breathe a little easier. Because he hadn't physically exercised in so long, his legs were extremely weak. Getting him up was a challenge, but we finally did. From that night until he left us, he never spent another night in his bed. He stayed in his recliner in the den for fear that he would get tangled in the hose again. He would not go outside because of the air quality. I bought a new car and took it home for my mom and him to see. He would not even come out on the front porch. Over the next few years things got progressively worse. When you have that much trouble breathing, you can't do much of anything. It is difficult to laugh, to even speak.  In November of 2007, he had to be hospitalized. I remember visiting him and watching him literally panting for air. I would take both his hands in mine and look him in the eyes and breathe slowly with him, trying to get him to take in more air rather than short little puffs. I will not forget the fear in his eyes as I tried to calm him, soothe his panic as he was minute by minute losing more and more air. There was not much more that could be done for him, but try to make him comfortable. I visited with him on a Wednesday night and by Friday he was gone. There is no cure for Emphysema. You can't get better. You can only get worse. My dad couldn't undo the damage that had been done by all of his years of smoking. My dear friends who are smokers can't undo damage either, but I wonder how much sooner we would have lost my dad if he had not quit smoking when he did. My girls would have never known their "Papa" and what a shame that would have been. If you don't want to quit for yourself, quit because you don't want your loved ones to watch you go through what I watched my dad go through. Don't make your wife, husband, children watch you die slowly knowing their is nothing they can do.

Give my Regards to Broadway!

Back in January of 2011, I wrote a blog post about a very special young man that I had the fortune of performing with back in the spring of 2003. That young man was Zak Resnick. The subject of that post dealt with the fact that he was going to be on American Idol. He didn't make it through the Hollywood cuts. Now, let me interject here that I don't put a lot of stock in American Idol. We all know that Reality TV is not really reality. Wow! That's a lot of "R's" American idol is not based on talent alone. If it was, Zak would be in the Top 10 if not your next American Idol, but I digress. Hollywood's loss was Broadway's gain. Tonight Zak debuts on Broadway at the Winter Garden Theater as "Sky" in Mamma Mia! Now, I'm sure some of you are thinking, "Wow! He's lucky!" Honey, luck had nothin' to do with it! Well, maybe a little luck, but mostly, I think, it had to do with Zak's awesome talent and his persistence and determination to live his dream! I have never seen anyone work any harder at getting himself out there. All of us actor types can take a page out of the Zak Resnick manual on how to make it in the Biz. I couldn't feel any prouder than if he were my own son. I know this is just the tip of his career iceberg. No one deserves it more. Zak, all your hard work has paid off, and tonight you fulfill your dream. Enjoy it! Revel in it! and know that all of us are so thrilled for you! I wish I could be there! I know the audience will fall in love with you as we all have! Break a leg!

Art is....

Yesterday I was given an amazing opportunity! My brother-in-law had a ticket to go see his precious nephew, who happens to be autistic, in a program called LIVE Art, produced by SPARC here in Richmond. Unfortunately for my brother-in-law he had a herniated disc and could not go. His misfortune was my fortune. My sister offered me the ticket. LIVE Art started as a dream that Erin Thomas-Foley, SPARC's Director of Education, wanted to see come to life. A dream that children of ALL abilities could come together to present a music concert. It was a music concert, but it was so much more! It was dancing, and singing, and moving and painting. I guess the best way to describe it would be that it was an explosion of creativity! Now, I have been to many programs in my years as a parent that consisted mostly of students. I have seen good ones, and I have sat through some that were, shall we say, a challenge to the audience member. I cannot describe the feeling I had yesterday as I watched this event. I did have a connection with one of the performers, my sister's nephew, but I had this overwhelming sense of pride for every child on that stage. Yes, the music was provided by Virginia's local favorites, Steve Bassett, Robbin Thompson, Susan Greenbaum, Jesse Harper, Josh Small and  a surprise performance by Grammy winner, Jason Mraz, a SPARC alum, but it was the performance of the ensemble that enthralled me. There was no delineation between students with special needs and students without. Everyone came together with one common goal, to express, to feel, to move, to celebrate. Performing Arts so often can be such a competitive world. Growing up around it and staying in that world, I know that. That's not what yesterday was about. I feel so honored to have been sitting in that audience. I was given a very special gift yesterday, and I will cherish it for a long time to come! If you would like to donate to ensure that LIVE Art is a program that can continue, please  Donate online today and put "LIVE ART" in the comments field, or contact Candace Mraz-Nelson, Director of Development, by email or by phone (804-353-3393 ext. 224) for volunteer and other support opportunities.