Someone Googled “childhood enmeshment” and it brought them to this post? Okay.
Well, let’s re-post it. Why not? All other drama camp posts here.
Originally posted July 2005.
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“If You Can’t Act, Behave!”
Can I say this? I rather dread the first day of drama camp.
And today was the first day of drama camp.
There’s always far too much drahhma.
There’s always The Poor, Fretful Chile who didn’t choose camp; it was chosen for her. Not sure which one she is? Oh, well, she’s the one coming unglued over in the corner. And is that her mother with her, consoling her? Nope, that’s me, trying to brainwash this child into believing that “drama camp will be fun, fun, fun and it’s just the ticket for a jittery kid like you!!”
Then there’s always The Bratty Boy; the boy that says, “Ewww. There aren’t any boys at this camp, only girls. Ewwww. I don’t wanna do this. Ewwww. This SUCKS.” So where is Bratty Boy now? Oh, he’s lying down over there in another corner. Guess he’s just plumb tuckered out from all that participatin’ he’s doin’. Or he’s drunk. Frankly, I’d rather he lie there with the DTs than bother the rest of camp.
Then there’s always The Little Girl in Floozy Makeup, the one whose naturally beautiful, shining face has been frosted and glossed and rouged past innocence into a macabre Pretty Baby rainbow. So where is our little rainbow now? Well, I wish I could say she was in the bathroom with a washcloth, making the world right again, but, alas, she’s loudly centerstage, frosty and glossy and rougey.
Of course, there’s always The Parent Who Never Leaves, the one who can’t separate or won’t separate or won’t let the child separate or some other combination of raging parent/child emeshment. Interesting. It’s usually the little rainbow’s mom.
Then there’s always The Parent Who Treats You Like A Babysitter: “See this stuff here? Well, that’s Baby’s overnight bag. She’s spending the night with Lulu, so can you see that Lulu’s mom gets this stuff, hmmm? And (eyeing our Goldfish and pretzels suspiciously) these are Baby’s special snack-ums. I want her to have some healthy snacks, so can you please give her these Salmon-Crusted Wheat Germy Soy Sticks, hmmm?” Interesting. It’s usually the mom of the sickliest looking kid at camp.
Then there’s always, always The Parent Who Cross-Examines You About Why Little Blandranelle Didn’t Get The Part She Desperately Wanted — And Do You Know She Cried All Day and All Night, Too?!
But then, ah, then, there’s always The Boy Who’s My Hero, the one who is sure enough about his emerging masculinity that he can go to football camp or baseball camp or basketball camp and STILL come to drama camp. And where is this boy, you ask? Well, he’s the one onstage right now, fearlessly leading the charge before all the other boys and getting up to audition, opinions be damned.
Finally, perhaps best of all, there’s always The Kid With Grace, the truly talented one who didn’t get the part she’d hoped for, because, much as you’d like, you can’t give every kid the lead, can’t make every theatre dream come true. So where can one find this Kid With Grace? Well, she’s the one on the phone with me now, listening as I offer her the choice of two other parts, neither the part, but still oh-so-important. And she’s the one hiding her disappointment with a poise belying her tender years. And she’s the one who breaks your heart when, again, you ask which part she prefers and she says, “Well, which choice would make it easier for YOU to do the best possible show? That’s the part I want.”
Come to think of it, dread is not the right word. Not the right word at all.
I actually do see the key phrase in the post, so this is not quite as oddball as most of your other Google hits. The way I like to see it, if they get something they didn’t quite expect, it may just be good for them.
OH – and Mama Blandranelle? If you Special Snowflakeâ„¢ learns how to deal with such things now, then in ten years she won’t be having a meltdown in ricki’s office because she blew off half the labs and wants some miracle extra credit to scrape a C. It’s also much more likely that she won’t turn out to be an unhappy woman trying to live vicariously through her daughter, like you.
(full credit for the phrase ‘Special Snowflake’ goes to ricki, btw.)
My oldest goes to drahhma classes on Thursdays. It’s for homeschoolers, but is run by some people with a lot of experience in our local theater and even some TV and film. Anyway, last week she and this little boy (firmly a member of the Special Snowflake contingent) were playing some kind of villian and damsel in distress.
I didn’t know any of these things though. All I knew is what I got in a phone call.
“Cullen, (Daughter Number One) got in trouble at drama class today.”
“What happened?”
“She hit a boy. His back had to be iced down.”
So, I’m thinking my kid whooped up on some poor kid. The full story comes out later. They were playing their game and DN1 accidentally shoves him a little too hard. This boy, unlike any other 10-year-old-boy who would have to be broken and bleeding before admitting to being beaten up by a girl, cried and asked for ice.
Of course we called their parents to apologize. We said, we’re really sorry, DN1 really didn’t try to hurt him. Kid’s dad was like, “Well, she obviously try hard enough, he had to have ice.”
I so badly wanted to get involved but it turns out it was a better thing for me not to. The kid’s mom is a lawyer.
Truly a good teacher’s perspective, T. Great post. (Not sure I was reading you back in 2005.)
Any kid who eats Salmon-Crusted Wheat Germy Soy Sticks probably has a very shiny coat. I mean, head of hair.
NF — Oh, you’re right. The phrase is in there. And I spelled it wrong, too, didn’t I? I rock.
Cullen — I totally want to punch that kid. And his dad. Ugh. The new man is a woman. I hate that.