My daughter found out she did not make the cast of Grease at Mahomet-Seymour High School last night. It wasn’t a surprise when her name wasn’t on the list of nearly 70 cast members, but still, being part of the team is something she really wanted to do.
Her interest in school productions peaked when she was in Mrs. Stack’s fourth grade class. The LEAP class Mrs. Stack taught included a small production, which she enjoyed performing in. Then, while in Jr. High, she tried out for the lead in a Three Little Pigs play. She did not get to play the character she wanted to play, but took a seat in a much smaller role (one line). Her freshmen year of high school she tried out for a part in the Addams Family cast, but she also was not chosen.
You see, while she is a beautiful and creative young woman, the performance life would not be the first thing I’d think she’d be interested in. She’s more of a solitary creature-one who wants to be part of a small group of friends, one who has high anxiety in large crowds made up of her peers. She’s not a good singer-at all. She’s never been one to be outgoing, loud or over-the-top. And while she enjoys and works hard at dance, she hasn’t made any teams.
She does not possess any quality that would make me say, “I think you should try out for the musical.” But yet, she does. Time and time again.
I was on Instagram the other day, and came across a post by Kristen Howerton, author of the blog “Rage Against the Minivan,” and she wrote, “ There are some mothers who, when their daughter expresses an interest in singing a vocally challenging Adele song for the school talent show, say SURE and let them go for it. And there are other mothers who explain vocal range and the difficulty of runs and steer their children to a simpler song with a less strenuous melody that they will be sure to nail without crackling and going flat.
I’ll let you guess which mother I am.”
While I watched my daughter go through this audition process, I thought about the type of mother I am. Should I be more like the mother who explains to her daughter that she cannot do something based on her talents? Should I not encourage her to try when statistically I know that she will fail? Should I be telling my daughter to be realistic about she can and cannot do so that she will better know how to fit into this world?
If I had done that, my daughter would not have been hurt when she read the cast list for this year’s production of “Grease.”
But if I had done that, my daughter would have missed out on a lot of other things, too.
In just a week’s time (which is all the time the students had), my daughter practiced her lines with a friend, her siblings and myself over and over and over. She auditioned and danced with her peers, and then unsuccessfully sang in front of people who are not her mother in a car.
In all these years of trial and failure, my daughter has learned
- that she doesn’t have to live inside of the box I or anyone else creates for her
- that failure isn’t the end of the road, and that she can pick herself up and try again
- that she’s not going to succeed every time she tries
- that success doesn’t always come overnight
- that sometimes when we don’t get the opportunity we want, other opportunities, will come our way
- that she needs to take a different approach next time, if she chooses to try again
- to express and control her emotions
- that she’s not the best at everything, and that her talents may be better suited somewhere else
- that she doesn’t have to take no for an answer
- that she doesn’t have to give up
- that her mother and siblings will always be there to help her and support her as she tries new, scary and hard things
- that she is more than the sum of what I see in her
And in standing by her while she tried out for the musical, my daughter saw that if she hadn’t tried, she would have definitely had a 0% chance to make the cast. But, by trying, we waited anxiously for three days because there was, at least, a chance she could make it. By not trying out, she would have completely missed the chance to do something she really wanted to do.
My daughter is still excited about being part of this year’s musical production. While you won’t see her on stage, she’s going to apply to be behind the scenes, where she was last year, using her talents to do hair and make-up for the cast.
You see, my daughter, although she appears to be fragile to many, has a resilient spirit. That’s what I want her to have more than anything. A singing voice may fade. She’s not going to dance for the rest of her life. But with a resilient spirit, she’s going to be able to overcome and conquer so much that she faces in life.
Resilience doesn’t come with knowing your place, your limitations and it doesn’t come from years of repeated success. Resilience comes when you can approach the reality of failure with grace and understanding; when you realize the value of failure, can stare it in the face, then brush it off when you get up and try again.
I know that I am doing the right things for my kids by not putting them in a box of their talents. Honestly, I’d rather give my kids an environment where they can fail because I know down the line, it will serve them very well.
Dani, as some one who has worked for many, many years with young people in the theater world, I so appreciated many of your comments. There is so much to be learned in these types of situation. A very healthy, realistic approach. Doesn’t mean there’s not hurt along the way, though. I’m so glad she is working in the tech field. Without the techies, there would be no shows. I admire our techies as they work out of integrity of doing a good job, rarely receiving the accolades they richly deserve.
FWIW, I did music (badly) in high school because my more talented friends did. Nothing wrong with not getting something you think you want — that’s how life works. But looking back, I wish I would have found more ways to do things that played to my strengths, like maybe participating in a science fair. So getting shot down sometimes is OK, as long as you don’t spend so much time and energy on it that you miss out on opportunities to do things where you could really shine.