You've Come A Long Way, Baby?

Before I was a teacher, I was an actor.  It’s something I usually only share with students when I know that they have a particular interest in theater themselves.  Early in the year, my after-school intervention group expressed an interest in doing literacy through acting and scene work.  The small cohort asked questions about my theater past, and I sprinkled them with answers, and that had been that.

A month ago, our school’s house decided to really celebrate the performing arts.  Each teacher was asked to choose a musical poster to hang outside the classroom door. I chose Miss Saigon, because I had been in the show on Broadway on on tour.  Many teachers put up a blurb explaining why they chose their poster, but I put up a photo from one of my performances.  One student noticed the photo and asked me about it.  I told him about it in passing.  But information travels fast through 7th grade, and it wasn’t long until I had inquiring minds at my classroom door, looking for answers of their own.

“Ms. Douglas, that’s you in that picture outside?”

“Yup.”

“You were in the show?”

“Yup.”

“When?”

“Back before I was a teacher.”

“That picture is really you?”

“Yeah, here...” I went over to my bookshelf and grabbed a folder.  My Miss Saigon press folder is a sleek, glossy thing with various programs, articles, and photos from the show.  I also keep old headshots from over the years in it.  After passing around the photos from the show, the students pointed to my headshots and I spread them out on the table. 

“When was that?” Chayanne asked, pointing to the most recent shots.  

“Oh gosh, 12, 13...14 years ago?”

The boys leaned in. The three photos showed me at my very best.  They were seemingly effortless shots, but in reality were attained through a few hours with a professional photographer, a makeup artist, and several wardrobe and location changes.  As an adult, I’d never looked better... or paid more to look that way.  But as I looked at the photos with them, I felt a certain amount of pride for that period in my life, and for being that woman in those pictures.  

Chayanne looked across the pictures for a long time.  He traded several glances between the photos and me before he spoke.  

“Ms. Douglas,” he finally said, “No offense, but... what happened?”

Smack.