海角大神

No one succeeded in persuading my teenage self that I鈥檇 come to see things differently. Every generation, I now realize, shakes its head knowingly at the rising one, having been the object of such head-shaking itself. Some early life events 鈥� breakups, bad grades, unfortunate wardrobe choices 鈥� seem to need time to settle into perspective. 鈥淵ou鈥檒l see,鈥� say clueless adults. We disagree 鈥� until we catch ourselves saying exactly that to a skeptical teen.

A female lead in my middle school鈥檚 musical can probably relate. Lisa was an eighth grade star. I was a seventh grade stagehand. And I admire her to this day for a moment that had little to do with the play itself. It had to do with an ironing board.

My buddy John and I were asked to be stagehands 鈥� the only seventh graders in an eighth grade production. We were stationed in front of the curtain on stairs that led to the floor of the auditorium. We crouched on the steps, racing onstage when the lights dimmed between scenes to position and retrieve props. I have no idea how a middle school production of 鈥淗alf a Sixpence鈥� struck those with more sophisticated tastes. But as a middle schooler, I was impressed. It was a huge deal.

Lines were learned, songs perfected, stagecraft honed. John and I hit all our marks. Dress rehearsal had gone well, and now it was opening night. The auditorium filled with families, friends, and faculty. Most of the school was there.

鈥淗alf a Sixpence鈥� centers on Arthur Kipps, a draper鈥檚 assistant who unexpectedly inherits a fortune. Ann is his childhood sweetheart, but upper-class Helen falls for him, too 鈥� and her mother has designs on Artie鈥檚 wealth. Artie must choose. The climactic scene takes place when Artie encounters Ann, played by Lisa. As the scene opens, she stands at an ironing board, ironing.

The lights dimmed prior to that scene. John and I rushed onstage with the props.

There was a problem.

鈥淕uys!鈥� Lisa hissed. She had the iron in one hand and was supporting the ironing board with the other. 鈥淚t won鈥檛 stay up! Guys!鈥�

We had but seconds. John and I made futile efforts to fix it. No good. The lights were coming up 鈥� as were the hairs at the back of my neck. We had to go! We plunged down the steps, abandoning her. 鈥�So glad it鈥檚 not me up there!鈥� I thought guiltily.

Poor Lisa was up there, though, clutching the ironing board and gamely pushing the iron back and forth. In seconds, she would have to say, 鈥淥h, Artie!鈥� and cross the stage to where he stood. What would she do? What could she do?

Here鈥檚 what she didn鈥檛 do. She did not:

鈥� Gently lower the ironing board to the floor and step over it to go to Artie. That would have been odd.

鈥� Walk over to Artie carrying the ironing board and iron and continue the scene as though nothing was wrong. That would have been odd and unintentionally comic.

鈥� Stay put and yell her lines to the childhood sweetheart with whom she was reconciling. That would have been disturbingly odd.聽

Instead, Lisa showed great poise. She stayed in character and added a brilliant bit of stage business, having had but a handful of heartbeats to decide. What would you have done?

鈥淥h, Artie!鈥� she exclaimed. Then she simply let go. Ironing board and iron fell with a crash that served to amplify the emotion of the moment. It was comic. It was dramatic. The audience loved it. She鈥檇 saved herself, the performance, and two shaken seventh graders.聽

Had she made a different choice, anguish might have trailed her memory of that evening. Instead, it was a triumph, a life lesson that I didn鈥檛 come to appreciate fully until much later.

What could be more disheartening than a spectacular fail in front of the whole school, with a literal spotlight on you? And what could be more empowering than to turn a potential train wreck into an ingenious bit of improv? 聽

One of the rules of improv is 鈥淧lay in the present and use the moment.鈥� Or, in Lisa鈥檚 case, 鈥淯se what you鈥檙e given 鈥� even if it鈥檚 broken.鈥澛�

Thanks, Lisa! I see it now: You showed me how it鈥檚 done.聽