Tuesday, November 13, 2012

From November 1978

These are the words I wrote in my looping handwriting the fall of my senior year:
This play is leaving me mentally and physically drained. I stay after school until five and this past week, six and seven. I haven't written as I should, but nothing is coming to me and I don't have time to think about a journal or even my feature for the paper. After the play; I keep saying after the play. Maybe next six weeks will be better. Ho! Ho! it's the Christmas season. No rest for the weary. Forgive me for not writing 3 days a week. I'm d
                                                               e
                                                                   a
                                                                       d.
OK and I have to share when the play was over. Some things never change, but other traditions have. I do think if I wrote about being "dead" today in high school, the guidance counselor would swope down on me. And I don't think a teacher could pray before the curtain call. Correct me if I'm wrong. From November 10, 1978:
The play is over. I don't know whether to cry or sigh relief. The whole show was magic tonight. The scenes were real and the audience was polite and loved us. Emotions ran to the peak and no one broke character. The six weeks of screaming, yelling, heartache, worry, and tiredness paid off for our grandiose performance. I wish we could do it one, no two or maybe three more times. All that work for only two performances.
The story in itself is very tense and dramatic as a deaf-blind spoiled child fights against a learning she does not understand. Dawna was Helen Keller. Linda taught her as Annie Sullivan. Debbie's face showed Kate Keller's mother grief in every scene. Tom was the opposing forceful father and Phil as James finally stood up to him. All the kids were the people they portrayed. It was like they were reincarnated.
The circle before the curtain call, set the concentration for creating the art. Mr. Munnell recited a poem about performing short run shows and then prayed beautifully. He supported us and we were inspired and teary.
The senior play is the greatest thing in the world. Many sacrifices are made, such as eating cold suppers or D.Q. specials at seven, falling behind or at least not getting ahead in school work, and not seeing the sun for days. You catch Z's when you can and shouldn't(like Economics and English.) All these add up to the worry, is it all worth it? And in the end when it's all over, the answer slowly rises in your ear, Yes, as the applause and congratulations rings to the stage.

Remember I had to write a journal for Creative Writing class. We could check pages off that we didn't want her to read, but being a writer, I wanted to be read. Like I said, not much has changed.
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