Stinky. Sullen. Bad Attitude. A Problem.
Yeah we were pretty sure we had Joe pegged. How wrong we were…
Years ago I was teaching in a summer Shakespeare program for teenagers. Every once and awhile, we would get a kid like Joe.
He radiated defiance from his tattered running shoes to his sullen stare. Joe was loud, difficult, rebellious…. and lonely. Most of the kids in the program found him as annoying as the instructors did. No matter what I introduced in my classes, he complained.
“Why are we doing this?!”
“Just try it Joe, you might learn something.”
“This is stupid!”
“Just humor me Joe. Give it a try.”
And so on. If he wasn’t disrupting the process, he didn’t know what to do with himself.
We had six weeks to build Midsummer Night’s Dream as an outdoor performance in a large city park filled with bridges and a lake and a fountain play area. This was a large leafy space filled with creative potential – and lots of opportunities for teens to get in trouble. Those in charge of the program were clearly concerned about Joe.
The week before auditions for parts were held, we did a series of individual workshops in spaces around the private school facility that housed the program. I was assigned to a long porch outside an old house to work one on one with individual participants.
Joe arrived, as always, ten minutes late for his session. I decided to ignore that and just dive in.
“Hey Joe, how’s it going?”
“Ok I guess.” He looked down. “Sorry I’m late”. This was new. I didn’t expect an apology.
“It’s alright Joe. Let’s just get started ok?” He shrugged. “OK”.
We were working on character walks – noticing what we can tell about people from the way they move around a space. After I explained this, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.
“See that guy walking across the quad?” Joe squinted into the distance.
“The goundskeeper dude? What about him?”
“Watch him for a minute and tell me what you think he’s like based on the way he moves.”
“I don’t know the guy! How am I supposed to know what he’s like?!”
“There’s no right or wrong here Joe. Just tell me what you notice.”
Joe rolled his eyes, but then turned his attention back to watching the man walk.
“He’s tired I guess.”
“How do you know?”
“He’s walking pretty slow.” Now Joe stands up and goes to the porch railing for a closer look. “His right shoulder is higher than his left.”
“Great observation Joe. What does that tell you?”
He’s on defense again. “I don’t know! How am I supposed to know?!”
I smiled. “Here’s how.” I motioned for him over to one end of the long porch. “I want you to imitate his walk, forward and back across the porch.” He looks at me sideways.
“Like I’m making fun of him or something?”
“You can exaggerate the shoulder thing if you want to. It’s less about making fun of him, and more about getting some info about who he is. Just try it. Nobody here but you and me.”
He tries it. Hesitantly at first, but then, with more concentration. I watch him as his self consciousness falls away and he steps into the “reality” of another person’s experience. After a few tries, he nails the walk.
“So Joe, what can you tell about this guy from moving like him?”
Joe is thinking. Then he says “He’s kind of unsure, like he’s looking at the world at a slant. Like maybe he’s got….” He stops. Then he continues. “A chip on his shoulder?”
I just raise my eyebrows.
“Huh.” He says. He’s had a realization.
Interesting.
We continue. I ask him to exaggerate different elements, and add different challenges. “How does he move when he’s being chased by a big dog?” “How does he move when he goes to meet his girlfriend?” Joe starts to have fun. The hour flies by.
Joe steps off the porch to go to lunch. Then he turns to reward me with the first dazzling smile I’ve seen from him in two weeks. “Thanks for that class!”
Later that week I have to convince the head of the program, Sam, to give Joe a shot at auditioning for Bottom, the comic lead in the play. Sam and Joe have been locking horns for weeks, and like so many of us adults, Sam felt that leading roles are rewarded for good behavior in class. Ability is secondary.
Joe aces the audition. It’s clear to everyone in the room that Bottom needs to be played by this kid. Sam grudgingly gives the part to him.
From then on, Joe is utterly transformed. Friendships blossom, the group finally bonds all together into a cast that can be trusted in the great outdoors. At the end of the show, during the final bows, Joe has added a dance piece that involves clogging – who knew he was even into that?
The show is a triumph, but more importantly, these young adults have found lasting friendships and the ability to step outside their own self consciousness.
They have experienced, through a silly play written centuries ago, the power of empathy.
At a time when suicide rates for teens have increased by 31% from 2007 to 2015 (and this was before the pandemic) policy makers and education officials are still calling for cuts to arts programs in schools across the country.
When the USA is roiling from vitriol and violence, when we grab for guns to resolve conflicts rather than find ways for all sides to benefit – we devolve as a culture into a toxic environment for our children.
We need to regain our capacity for Empathy. Arts programs have proven their worth in building empathy far beyond their monetary cost.
Years later, I was sitting in a waiting room at a local health facility before an appointment, and who walks in the door? Joe! He breaks into that dazzling smile when he sees me. He strides over and gives me a huge hug. He tells me about his job – computer programmer, his wife – a nurse – and their new baby. He proudly shows off the photos. Then he says this:
“That day with you on the porch changed my life. Thank you.”
Please find a way, however you can, to support arts programs in the schools.
Kids like Joe will thank you.
Curious about how to get more creativity into your own life?