31 Days, 31 Memories - Day 23

[bironic]

My sister suggested a non-elementary-school era memory, so:

23. High School

Our ninth grade English teacher, P. (the one I was apparently rumored to have been sleeping with) was big on classroom participation. During our Romeo and Juliet unit, we each memorized and recited a passage, made a video or presented a live skit in a group, and made masks in class for a mock costume ball like the Capulets held. P. also cast and directed us in a few "live" in-class performances of key scenes in the play. I usually scrunched down in my seat and/or avoided eye contact when he chose the day's victims, and it almost always worked. (I had a good relationship with P. and he respected my intense shyness to a point. For most of the year I was doled out small bit parts or was allowed to remain an audience member, and he mostly called on me to read lines that other students weren't understanding.)

Then came the balcony scene.

I don't remember how P. did it, exactly; the trauma of the moment has overshadowed the details. Maybe he assigned Juliet to me right away, or maybe he asked for volunteers as usual and chose me anyway. However it happened, it was clear that he'd intended me to have the part. As if that weren't enough, he then assigned Romeo to A.N. (we always referred to him by his full name), an annoying and universally ridiculed boy in class who could be so obtuse sometimes it was embarrassing to watch. P. used to argue with this kid for 10 minutes running just for the amusement value. And then to top it all off, instead of letting the two of us die in peace in our seats, P. made me get up, walk to the back of the classroom and sit on top of the counter while A.N. knelt on the floor in the middle of the room.

I stared resolutely at the page, I remember that, face brighter red than usual as we voiced our declarations of love and lines about the moon being "sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she," as I endured P.'s amused instructions to read with more passion, and wondered how I would face anyone ever again. We got through it, though. And I didn't resent P. for what he did, really, despite my outward protestations. Because I adored him, and underneath the terror and mortification, I was secretly glad he'd chosen me.

Comments

[kabal42.livejournal.com]

I wish I had a memory to match this one, but unfortunately I spend a lot of my youth with teachers who thought I was too smart for my own good and neaded to be taken down a peg or two. Sorry, there's a good bit of bitterness about that...

To a memory:
The first time I saw a professional teacher about singing she remarked that I had an amazing range and that it was a pity I was not younger.

Add-on:
While that's a great memory I was sad because the "not younger" meant that if I had been younger I could have gone somewhere with singing. And I'd spent my life hearing that I was never going to be better than just an okay back-up or choir singer. So now I never will, but I could have.
I have a similar one about my piano playing. Damned people who take you down and hold you back and instill the belief that music is not a career.

[bironic.livejournal.com]

Still, who's to say when it's too late? That even now "at your age" you're not able to start something, whether it's a career or serious hobby in singing or piano playing?

[kabal42.livejournal.com]

Well, it's too late to get as good as I could have. I still sing, though, and aim to be a good amateur. Same goes for playing.

[bironic.livejournal.com]

Does that mean we'll be treated to a song at Patronus? :)

[(Anonymous)]

You just might :-)
I'm trying to cook up a filk, in fact. If I manage, then you will. Or if someone forces me - you never know *G*

[bironic.livejournal.com]

Splendid, splendid. I would love to hear you sing and play.

[catilinarian.livejournal.com]

I know exactly the feeling you mean - the wretched embarrassment, the slightly sick resentment at being pulled up in front of the class, and the strange, secret pride in being chosen, all the same. For me, there was the odd sense of being ashamed OF feeling kind of proud; I knew I "should" feel good about being singled out by the teacher, but that was an emotion only fitting for other students. My place, I had decided, was to be apart and cherish being apart, and secretly wanting to be picked felt almost perverse.

I'm not sure I'm making any sense, but my memory:

In eighth grade, the drama club did a variety show in the school gymnasium. Our supervisor chose me to sing "Little Girls" from "Annie" - the orphanage matron's drunken lament about being surrounded by bratty children. I was supposed to completely camp it up and terrorise the kindergarteners in the front row while I sang. I was an awkward fourteen-year-old with a restrained choir-girl soprano and an absolute horror of small children, and I clunked through rehersals, which I could tell was worrying the club supervisor a lot. When the actual performance rolled around, however, the strange alchemy that happens when I'm on stage, with a scripted role to hide behind, finally occured and I vanished completely. In my place was, according to later accounts, someone who belted out the song, flicked the end of her shawl playfully at the little girls in the audience, and made even the other eighth-graders laugh. My supervisor looked a little shell-shocked, but then I imagine I did to; I scarcely remember being up there.

[bironic.livejournal.com]

For me, there was the odd sense of being ashamed OF feeling kind of proud

Oh, yes, there was that too. I'm not sure if it was for the same reason as yours. In fact, it may have been a somewhat opposite motivation, in that I did feel an outsider and mostly cherished the position but also wanted to fit in. (Ah, adolescence.) From what I remember of unspoken honor student codes, it was generally accepted that only the nerds (laughed at) and one or two super-smart kids (i.e. our increasingly big-headed and popular valedictorian) wanted to be called on, and while I often felt like both, I wanted to be seen as neither -- or rather, not to be seen much at all. So while I did flush partly out of pride for being recognized by the teacher, I would have preferred it to be done alone after class rather than in front of everyone, because I always thought getting called on made it look like I was fishing for praise.

...

That's awesome about your triumphant performance. I've always wondered whether it was a fiction that shy actors disappear into roles that require them to act totally unlike themselves.

[catilinarian.livejournal.com]

I remember reading Nigel Hawthorne's autobiography and discovering that he was actually quite shy face-to-face. He divides actors into two categories: those who act to reveal themselves, and those who act to conceal themselves. Laurence Olivier, of all people, has actually mentioned being similarly drawn to hide behind the role, and interestingly ascribes his penchant for false noses in virtually every role to his feeling that the bridge of the nose was a particularly emotionally vulnerable spot, one he didn't want his audience looking at.

As you can tell, I'm kind of fascinated by this. :)

[bironic.livejournal.com]

Interesting indeed. Didn't Nicole wossface say she felt liberated to play Virginia Woolf when she put on the false nose?

[catilinarian.livejournal.com]

I hadn't read that, but now I'm even more interested in the psychological significance of that spot right above the nose. I wonder if that's why half-masks feel so liberating?

[bironic.livejournal.com]

I could have sworn I read, around when the movie first came out, that she put on the nose and felt that she could in fact play the character. However, a quick search just now didn't yield anything like that -- actually, sort of the opposite. So either she changed her mind from one interview to the next, or I'm misremembering and thinking of someone else.

See for ex.: http://www.indielondon.co.uk/film/hours_kidmanQ&A.html or
http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2003/01/24/1042911546416.html