My very first drama teacher was a fabulous woman named Rhonda. She wore fabulous scarves, had fabulous hair, and played fabulous music by Stevie Wonder. She made us all feel like the special little snowflakes we thought we were. Every time I entered her theater classroom, with the soft spotlights and air-conditioning blasting, I felt safe and secure enough to take risks and push myself.
I had other terrific drama teachers throughout middle school (Lenny, Terry), theater programs (Colleen, Tina, Rob), and college/grad school (Theresa, Peg, Frank, Joe, Vincent). And all along, I hoped to one day be in their ranks.
But it wasn't enough to just teach drama. I had spent my formative years at a Quaker school. And while I certainly had my share of adolescent woes, Quaker education laid the foundation for my open mind and social conscience.
Senior year of college (before the days of Facebook), a friend sent around one of those chain email surveys that were totally inane (favorite ice-cream flavor! favorite Saturday morning cartoon!) but suddenly fascinating when you were supposed to be studying for finals. One of the questions was "dream job". I quickly typed in "Teaching Drama in a Quaker school."
I knew the chances were slim to none. While there are a number of Quaker schools in the Northeast (specifically the Philly area), teaching jobs there are highly coveted. Drama teaching jobs are even more coveted (since often there is just one teacher at a school--you are a lonely department of one).
So I got certified to teach English, and used that to build up my teaching resume--directing and teaching theater whenever I could squeeze it in. Entering the drama classroom or rehearsal room was always, ALWAYS the highlight of my teaching day. I remember so clearly directing a scene in the mini-theater at Cathedral High School (in midtown Manhattan), probably in my mid-twenties, and catching myself so alive and energized. "This is it," I realized. "I am GOOD at this. I LOVE this."
Upon moving back to PA, I used that old English certification to snap up a job teaching English at a private girls' school. "This will be better," I convinced myself. "I'll have more time for my baby now that I'm not directing." But after 5 years of mountains of essays, a breakneck monotonous schedule, philosophical differences, broken promises of actually allowing me to teach a drama class or start a legit theater program at the school, and another baby, I could feel the slow burn...of burning out. I had another a-ha moment...but not quite as lovely as my previous one. I was walking across the beautiful campus one day, and just felt my spirit sort of...slipping away. "Why aren't I happy?" I asked myself. "Why can't I just appreciate that this is a perfectly good job?" But I was a drama teacher trapped in an English teacher's body...and everyone knew it. I started going on interviews for something more in my field, always coming right down to the finish line...only to be told "we're going with someone else." My friends and family patiently listened to each disappointing story, only to pat my hand and tell me, "Something better will come along."
And then...some sunlight started to peek through the clouds. I applied for a "part-time English position; theater experience preferred" at--ding ding ding!--a Quaker school. I was to teach 2 English classes and produce the school shows. They hired me the day of my interview, and I just finished a blissfully satisfying, joyful, energizing first year. I can't tell you how many times I caught myself saying "Yes, THIS. This is exactly where I'm supposed to be."
Last month, I signed my contract for next year. I'll be teaching 2 English classes, 3 Drama classes, and still steering the entire theater program (I opted not to direct for the time being, which will allow me more "Mommy time").
"Hold fast to dreams," Langston Hughes wrote. I was beginning to think that was futile and, perhaps, selfish. But I did hold fast. And this is no longer a dream deferred, but a dream achieved.
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