I can take you back to a moment that changed the course of my life. It’s dramatic, but so is this blog’s subject matter. It didn’t alter my life in the way that I may have led you to believe, but I don’t think I’ve experienced anything that’s changed me more fundamentally than this. Strap in, because this is gonna get geeky and sappy as always.
I strolled the halls one afternoon as I did most days when I should’ve been in a science teacher’s crowded classroom for a Robotics Club meeting. I know it’s terribly nerdy, and I knew it was terribly nerdy when I joined Lansdowne’s team in the third grade, when I joined Tates Creek Elementary’s team when I moved schools the following year, and yet again when I entered middle school. It was really fun until it wasn’t. And in seventh grade, my illustrious robotics career came to an end. It’s all Ellis Padgett’s fault, and she deserves more recognition for that than she gets.
As I wandered around the block of classrooms, I got closer and closer to a group of boisterous adolescents who huddled around another room. Ellis saw me and asked if I was there to audition. Audition for what? Then I was back in the science teacher’s classroom, telling the teacher that I would be with the drama teacher for a few minutes, but I’d be right back. Only I never went back. I auditioned for The Brothers Grimm Spectaculathon, and boy did I feel like a badass. Maybe it should’ve been harder to leave robotics behind after four years, but the decision was actually quite easy. It was not a decision that garnered immediate gratification, however. I didn’t make the cast list for Brothers Grimm. Sad, I know, but I took a position on the stage crew, though somewhat begrudgingly. I guess this was kinda like my first time using drugs, except the substance was obnoxious, dramatic teenagers who ran around pretending to be someone else. I was hooked.
My addiction manifested itself as I stage managed the next three shows and acted in one production. I didn’t get back into theatre until sophomore year, when I was at the bottom of the totem pole again, as a low-level stagehand, and I was loving it. By the end of this year, I will have been a part of four productions at Henry Clay. I switched from one geeky extracurricular to another, I know. I often think about how different I would be if I hadn’t done theatre, if I’d kept playing with Lego robots. I’ve stuck around, but it’s not been the easiest. The issue with theatre is that “theatre kids” fulfill the stereotypes all too often. We’re not all bad all the time, but some of these people really need a switch that turns off the drama. I know it’s in their blood, but it is so hard to be friends with everybody, which is something I recognize I have a bit of a need for. Sometimes it feels like I’m caught in the middle of an awfully written soap opera that stars hormonal attention-whores and questionable leadership. That’s not to say that I don’t love most of the people I’ve worked with in the many productions I’ve been a part of, but we’ve got a severe issue with cancel culture in this theatre department. If you want the gossip, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I would rather not perpetuate the very thing I wish to destroy. But I can summarize my whole issue now. It’s been a secret dream of mine to have major roles and be in the theatre clique. But now that I’ve accomplished these rather selfish goals, I have some major cognitive dissonance going on. I know that the people I admire do terrible things. I’m guilty of some of the same terrible things, but it’s becoming hard to choose between defending them and staying on good terms with other people.
So what do you do when you’ve achieved your dreams and befriended your heroes, but it means that you are surrounded by principles you can’t stand for?
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