It was 12:25 am and I was sitting in a line of cars in a quiet neighborhood.  I was driving the carpool home, waiting for the kids to come out from their cast party.  They’d just performed their closing show of the high school version of RENT, their fifth show in nine days.  Half the cast had a cold of some sort, their vocal chords were fatigued, and they should all have been exhausted and spent. But when they climbed into the car, I could sense they were still full of this manic energy.

“Can’t we just… do it again?  Can we just all show up on Sunday and do another matinee show?” they asked.

And I laughed because although I was also somewhat depleted, I knew what they meant, and I felt it too.  I don’t want it to be over either. It’s been insanely busy for the cast, crew and volunteers, but I would have done it all over again. In a heartbeat. And I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in that.

I don’t know if any of us could have imagined the impact this show would have on the kids and the audience.  My sixteen year old even said, “This show changed me.”  The directors took on a mature content show with themes of Life and Love, and I believe they all did Jonathan Larson proud.

“In these dangerous times where it seems that the world is ripping apart at the seams, we all can learn how to survive from those who stare death squarely in the face every day,  and should reach out to each other and bond as a community, rather than hide from the terrors of life at the end of the millennium.” (Jonathan Larson)

And that is exactly what this team sought to do, and did, with grace and strength.  They reached out to each other and their community and they bravely told a story of humanity… that living with a disease doesn’t define a person, that everyone deserves their dignity, and that Love Is Love. That it doesn’t matter what love looks like to someone, it only matters that it IS.

“There’s only now, there’s only here. Give in to love. Or live in fear. No other course, no other way. No day but today.”

We are unfortunately living in a time when book bans are at an all time high, and subjects deemed “controversial” are avoided to the point of being ignored. But avoiding or ignoring “difficult” subjects won’t make them go away. They will always be there, waiting to be acknowledged.  We ignore at our own peril. We judge when we’re faced with something we don’t understand, or something we fear. Judgement is easy because it requires no self-reflection, no self-scrutiny, no examination of why we hold these fears or keep misconceptions close. Without that self-reflection, we don’t grow. The only way to acceptance, the only way to grow, is to bravely face what we don’t understand. If we lead with love, we cannot go wrong.  

That’s how the directors led this group of middle and high schoolers- they led each rehearsal with love, for over three months, every day after school: love for the music, the characters, and the craft. Building a story, a set, a band, day by day. They put so many hours into rehearsals, going over and over the scenes and the songs. And sometimes when we do something over and over again, it becomes a habit, routine. And when we do things out of habit, there can be less feeling, less intensity behind it. It just sometimes happens.

But this. This was not like that at all. I don’t know how they did it, but they tapped deep into a well within themselves, holding onto these emotions, this passion, this truth they revealed of their characters, of themselves really. I was in awe: they were joy and sorrow, vitality and pain, moxie and vulnerability. I felt as proud of them as if they were all my own kids. That’s a theater-mom-thing, I guess.  I didn’t just watch or witness these performances, I felt them, deep in my soul.

It was the most amazing experience to be a part of, to be in that audience and forget what time it was, or that time was even passing. To forget what day it was, to forget that there was a world outside that stage. It was an extraordinary thing to be so immersed in a show with music like that- knowing that the band was on the stage instead of in the pit. I felt the music in my veins. I was acutely aware of their presence and simultaneously oblivious because they blended so seamlessly with the actors and the set.  It was flawless and the band lifted the vocals to another level entirely.

I went to every show just to experience this over and over again. I wanted to lose myself in the music, to lose myself in the love they showed each other and shared with us. It was simply beautiful beyond words. Love is love is love is love. This troupe, these incredible kids. They are Love.

At the very end of the show, one of the tech kids had created “Mark’s movie” and it played while they sang “No Day But Today.” The timing was impeccable and I was reduced to a puddling mess every time. I cried to the point of embarrassment. I let all the feelings just pour out of me because it was the only thing I could do.

And now that it’s done? I have an “emotional hangover.” This is the only way I can describe it. I feel full and drained at the same time. And it’s hard to explain that. I’ve been searching for the right words. I can’t get the music out of my head. I go to bed singing the songs. I wake up singing the songs. I’ve played the soundtrack on repeat each day I worked this week. But it’s our kids I see and hear in my head. (No offense, Idina Menzel.) I still can’t get enough.

I know that as much as I cried while it was happening, I will still be crying now that all the performances are done.  I will cry because I will long to feel something as stunning and powerful as this is again. I will cry because I was lucky enough to be a part of it.

I will try to carry these feelings with me in the days, weeks, months and years that follow. Because I don’t ever want to forget something so beautiful. I will cry because I know no matter how hard I try, Time will do its thing and soften the edges around these raw powerful emotions and it won’t feel the same after a while. I know that and it makes me sad.

To our kids and their directors, I humbly thank you for this amazing gift.

I look forward to the next time I’m lucky enough to be a part of something so incredible.

Until then, I will measure my time in love, the best I can.