And the waves crash around me,
the sand slips out to sea,
and the wind that blows reminds me of what has been
and what can never be.
Last night was the opening of Up the Down Staircase at Daisy's school. It's her first drama production and she was on the stage crew for this one. The director's choice for staging was an interesting one; in place of the vignettes that characterize the movie version, she created a Laugh-In style set that featured doors that opened with the actors' heads appearing inside to deliver lines. Effective, and an interesting way to "shake up" a production many of us know by heart. The young man playing Joe Ferone was excellent, although he affected such a strong Marlon-Brando-like accent that I kept waiting for him to start sticking dental cotton in his mouth, à la the Saturday Night Live "Godfather" skit. All in all, it was a wonderful evening and I was very glad to get back into the groove of school activities.
Drama is good for kids, I think. It teaches them to, in the words of Miss Sylvia Barrett, "reach beyond their grasp" and explore not only what they are but what they are not. Like sports, it teaches teamwork and cooperation in a way that helps prepare kids for the real world. And they are generally really good kids, with parents who are involved. Mr and I were both drama geeks. I think Daisy will do well here. I am proud of her work in the crew, and look forward to lots more productions over the next several years.
I was surprised by my reaction to the curtain call, however. As the pairs came on stage for their bows, forming the traditional ensemble line, I found myself starting to cry. As the leads took their place and the entire cast raised their clasped hands to take their final bow, I looked over at Mr. B. His eyes were also filled with tears and I knew we were thinking the same thing: The Bug would have been in drama. She would have been an actor, perhaps a lead, having absorbed years of informal coaching from us both. And we were struck again with what has been and what can never be. I wonder, sometimes, how many more of these moments we will encounter; whether every milestone and happy event in Daisy's life will be tinged with just a hint of hidden regret that we will do all of these things with one child instead of two. And I hope that I can keep that regret hidden -- it would be a shame indeed to let Daisy see the sadness in our eyes at every turn.
I am a lighthouse
worn by the weather and the waves.
And though I am empty,
still I warn the sailors on their way.