What I Forget About Musicals

The crystal clear high G sharp.

The kid who came out of nowhere to nab the show stopping number.

The student who I never thought would lay down his guitar long enough to do anything else, pulling off a gangster with excessive amounts of swag.

The spontaneous rim shots.

Turning around in my seat at the piano and seeing the face of a dear friend being goofy.

Feeling like a genuine ensemble in those perfect moments of the show.

I forget these small things in between the fatigue and frustration of being in the musical. I forget how, at some point, I will tear up watching my students perform, because I’m so proud of what they can do.

I forget how the applause feels. I forget how sad I will feel Saturday night when we close, even though I’ll be relieved to sleep. I forget all of these emotions every year, and that is probably a good thing. If I remembered, I’m not sure I’d keep doing it year after year, and I would not have all of these precious memories that help me remember why I became a teacher in the first place.

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