Four years now, and it comes down to this. One last lesson. One last official opportunity to impart some wisdom and guide a voice. One final pass at songs, but really, one final pass-along of all the things we’ve not yet sung or said.
I teach all three of my graduating theatre students today. These are make-up lessons, but how fitting that I see each of them one final time, on the same day.
These are the three that have been with me since the first week of school in August 2008. They were random assignments then. But they’ve grown to be more important to me than I can possibly express.
Kyle, from Cincinnati, arrived at his first lesson dripping wet, having walked to the wrong building two blocks away, in the rain. The first word out of his mouth when I met him was an unprintable profanity. I liked him instantly.
Audrey, from Modesto out in California, brought a smile and a mask to her lessons. She’s removed the mask now, and has blossomed into a wonderful and versatile soprano.
Jared, from nearby in Illinois, also went to the wrong building for his first lesson. I walked by him as I left Thompson House to go to CMS, and I wondered if he was my student. We’ve since moved to him to reliable high Cs.
These three always make me laugh. They make me cry for good reasons.
I will miss them terribly, and I think that Commencement one week from today will be a teary one.