The Beginning/The Day

The first two years of The Shakespeare Club my husband was away working and could barely imagine what I'd attempted. The first production William saw was "Romeo & Juliet" and he wept. Not great, gallumping sobs or anything but he got a little teary and it wasn't because a boy swallowed poison or because a girl put a dagger into her heart.

Nope, it was because his wife was doing something he thought was worthwhile.

Of course, that meant a lot to me and with that good feeling I was able to recruit his help in myriad ways. William was my go-to for sound effects and he made the pre-show CD. William was my run-out-and-grab-sandwiches-for-Mel-and-Rachel guy. William was the look-across-the room-with-crossed-eyes-and-receive-encouragement guy.

I got super-spoiled instantly by having my guy with me on performance day.

And then I got into a disappointed, cranky mood because this year for "Macbeth" William was eighteen hundred miles across the country. Now, even from that distance, he made those CDs. He edited sound effects and downloaded the music for us. BUT STILL. I was going to miss him big time. There would be no ham and cheese for me or Rachel on this day.

William was in my head as I drove from home early on May 27th toward the school. I thought about us the year before driving together, my head spinning and my nerves on edge. On May 27th of this year I had no one to snap at on the dewy morning. No one share to concerns with. No one to wrinkle my brow at during the day. I had to grow up fast and I didn't like that one bit.

I parked the car and unpacked cases of water for thirsty actors. In the teachers' lounge I stacked boxes of snack bars and cartons of little Cuties oranges donated by Trader Joe's.

I stepped into the cool, dimly lit auditorium. I opened the storage doors underneath the stage and dragged out large trays of metal chairs to go onstage. I started the work of the day and missed my husband oh, so much.

Get thee a good husband,
and use him as he uses thee.

All's Well That Ends Well Act I, Scene I

I am spoiled rotten in the marriage department.


CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

My name is chelsy. I live in a hollow tree with my sisters layla and Lady Macbeth. My friends are the animals, dawfs and birds. I eat pig, goat milk, and corn sticks. I believe in everything. I want to tell every one there future. I will apear to everyone's house. I am afraid of not getting to be belived in. I am afraid of bad witches. I am loyal to people. I am loyal to king. I am very brave.

My full name is Grace Monica sage witoshic. My family members are my brother credance Jake witoshic, my sister Layla anna witoshic, and my other sister Rouch Macbeth witoshic. I like to eat samon, pie, drink mead, ale and eat goat. I like to wear butiful red and pink dresses. I also like to wear a purple bonit. I live in a hollow tree with 7 rooms. It is big and pink.

—Ellie, 4th grade

A Moth: Darby, Part I

April, 2010

"Darby, I have something I'd like to read to you."

"Okay, Ms. Ryane."

We're sitting outside her classroom at a picnic table. I've taken Darby out of class for this time together. I open up a sheet of paper and read aloud.

"I want to be in Shakespeare Club because I love acting. Since it's my last year and my third and last in the Shakespeare Club, I want to finish this year with an awesome show."

I hold out the typed copy of Darby's journal writing. She studies it and hands it back to me. I refold the paper and try to meet her eyes as we sit across from each other at the blue metal table. Darby's face is half covered in long locks of her brown hair. She's grown her bangs into a curtain.

"I believe you meant that when you wrote it and I still believe you mean it, but I'm having trouble seeing it. It's like you've stopped caring. Like you're bored or I don’t know what."

"I was just having a bad day, Ms. Ryane. I'll try, I'll do better," she whispers.

When Darby was eight years old and in her first year of the club, I was told by her teacher that she rarely spoke in class. This was not my experience with her. She played Tybalt in "Romeo and Juliet" that year and each week gained traction, voice-wise. By the performance date, Darby was enthusiastically playing her role. In one performance, after she was killed, she rolled sideways across the stage back to her seat. An efficient and creative choice, I thought.

Last year Darby was a musician in "Twelfth Night." She helped write her own composition, practiced and made all of her cues.

This year she has a prominent but easy role as Narrator Two, with a side chore of cueing the actors when they call "Line!" She has nothing to memorize because she's only required to read aloud from a script. And she's failing. Crashing. Falling apart, failing.

"Darby, you're late."

"Darby, the cue."

"Darby, stand up."

My endless nagging has not helped. Nagging rarely does. But I'm at a loss and this isn't our first conversation about the problem. I've asked, "How can I help you? Tell me how and I'll do it."

"I'll try harder," she answers every time I bring it up.

"Darby, this isn't about one bad day, this is every day." I brush my fingers across her forehead, looking for her eyes. Her face is as pale as moonlight, her eyes large and dark and her body thin as a needle. "Sometimes I look across the room at you and it's as if you've floated like a moth up to the ceiling...far away. Where are you, Darby? What's happening? Are you nervous about moving on to middle school?"

"A little."

"What else?"

"It's home."

"Okay."

"It's my parents and...."

"What? They don't understand you? They think something's wrong with you?"

"Yeah...yeah...and I don't know...it's just bad and I can't...they tell me not to say...because...."

"Because it's private."

She nods and looks at her hands.

"Okay, you don't have to say anything to me about this. I can see you're having a rough time but I will tell you this: When I was your age I had a tough time at home and the one thing I knew was that onstage I had all the power. So do you."

"Yeah." This comes out in a sigh.


"Okay, here's the deal, I'm going to take away your job as prompter. Faith will do that because the other actors need those cues. You already have two x's and I'm giving you one more chance on Wednesday to do your part. If you really can't, I will have to replace you. I don't want to do that, Darby, because I can't think of anything more painful than if you had to come into the auditorium with your class and watch 'Macbeth' instead of being up there in it. I still believe what you wrote, that you want this to be an awesome show. Okay?"

I knew the minute this little speech was out of my mouth that threatening her was the worst possible route. I watched Darby lope back to her classroom with her limp hair, her head lolling and her shoulders drooping. I had one of those awful moments of knowing I blew it and was not clear on how to help or repair it.

The one clear piece of knowledge I had was I wouldn't be sleeping well that night.

A Moth: Darby, Part II
She Flutters: Darby, Part III

CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

If I was a girl in the Elizabethan Period, I would try hard to earn my education and become a famous book writer. I would not like to have layers of clothing on top of me, when at home I would cook delicous meals, (including warm dinner rolls with melted butter inside. And do my very best to keep my family happy.

—Darby, 5th grade

Amaya: Behind a Theatre Mask

January, 2010

Last year she longed to be in Shakespeare Club. She crept along the sidelines and watched the actors warm up. She asked if she could sit in on rehearsals and one day, in a courageous spurt, blurted, "Ms. Ryane, I want to be in it....Can I be in it?"

Amaya was not chosen last year for the simple reason that I had too many, but I knew she would have her opportunity when she reached fifth grade and here she is.

Amaya sneaks out of her classroom early on Wednesdays to help me set up. She arrives a few minutes before Lucinda, our stage manager, so we have some time alone to catch up.

Amaya's mom found a special ring and gave it to her daughter.

"Look, Ms. Ryane." She holds her hand up to show me.

"Oh, wow...do you know what these are, Amaya?"

She looks down at the ring and uncertainty flows across her face.

"Don't worry, I'm going to tell you. There are two faces on this ring. See how one looks happy and one looks sad?"

Amaya nods behind the long bangs hanging in her eyes.

"Do you remember when The Shakespeare Club did 'Romeo and Juliet'?"

"Yes, because Belinda was Juliet."

"Right. So, at the end of that play lots of people died. That means it's a tragedy."

Amaya tries the word out in her mouth a few marbly times, "Tradedy...tradegy?" And then we say it together. "Tragedy. Tragedy. Good, you got it."

"Remember last year when we did 'Twelfth Night'?

"Yes," she answers in a quiet voice.

"At the end of that play everyone got married and nobody died, which means it's a comedy. Now look at your lovely ring."

We study it together.

"These are the theatre masks. One for comedy and one for tragedy. Your mom gave you a very special gift and how perfect because now you are in Shakespeare Club."

"She didn't even have to buy it....she found it."

"Even better."

"Ms. Ryane?"

"Yup?" I answer, hauling tables away and dragging chairs into place.

"I found a picture of Queen Elizabeth."

"Where is it?"

"I found it on the computer."

"Cool. Do you mean in computer class you did some research?"

"Yes and I found her picture."

"Well, good. You could print that out and bring it in to share....Would you like to do that?"

She would like to do that. And she will wear that ring to every meeting.

CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

I want to be in Shakespeare club because I always thought that I could get to be an actor. I also want to be in the shakespeare club because I think I could get to be in actor when I grow up. I think that I could be here is because I could learn more about him.

Today I learn something about William. I also learn the rules and mottos of the shakespeare club.

—Amaya, 5th grade

Theresa: Drawing Out the Talent

April, 2009

In fourth grade, Theresa played Juliet's nurse. This year she would be our Sea Captain, with her big scene with Viola at the start of the play, after they land on the shores of Illyria.

As the nurse in "Romeo and Juliet," Theresa fought hard to give us what we needed. I pushed and pushed for Theresa to give volume and to slooooowww down as she sped through her speeches. Upon finding Juliet passed out on the floor, she had to run in, crying:

Get up!
Why, lamb! Why, lady! Why, love! Why, bride!
Dressed in your clothes and now back in bed?
Help! Help! My lady's dead!

Oh boy. This was a reach for Theresa. I worked with her alone. I asked her to shout, but she creaked it up only an itsy-bitsy bit louder. Theresa wanted to do it so badly but she couldn't find her actor courage or her actor voice.

A super-bright girl, this year she whipped through the "Twilight" books like a speed-reader. I'd see her during lunch breaks reading novels or studying her lines. She was off-book before anyone else, but Theresa is quite simply off-the-charts shy.

She lives with her sisters, dad and stepmom. Sometimes she would miss school and our meetings.

"Hey, Theresa, are you okay? You didn't come to school or Shakespeare Club."

"Oh, sorry," she'd whisper. My mom...um...stepmom...didn't wake up to drive me."

One day, going through Theresa's journal, I saw drawings she'd done to accompany her writing. Stick figures with cartoon symbols indicating emotional reactions. There was one of Theresa fighting with her sisters. Sweat drops flew, eyes popped in fury and jagged bolts speared from heads. The sketches were advanced and remarkable.

I asked Theresa if she would consider contributing drawings to go along with some journal excerpts for display at our performance. She blushed and said, "Okay."

I set her up in the library with pens, pencils and colored markers. She drew Shakespeare as a "waterboy," balancing a tray with glasses of water and more tumblers perched on his head. She drew Queen Elizabeth powdering her face, with white fluffs floating around her worried look. She had Shakespeare under a family portrait, writing home as he wept over his letter.

I wish I could show you what Theresa came up with, but I returned the work to her after the performance. When I knew I would be writing a blog piece about her, I sent Theresa a letter with a pen, paper and a self-addressed stamped envelope asking her to copy some of her drawings to put on this site. I didn't hear back. A few weeks later I called her house and left a message. Nothing.

All I have are a few tidbits she drew for our program.


Before the performances of "Twelfth Night," I spoke to the audience and told of how exciting it was for me to see talents emerge in The Shakespeare Club. We see actors, writers, singers, musicians and, this year, a visual artist.


"My advice," I said, "would be to get this girl's autograph now....She's going to be famous. Theresa, please stand."


This impossibly shy talent bravely stood and accepted her due.


CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

In The Shakespeare Club I hope to learn more about Shakespeare and learn to a better actor and be less shy so I can act better.

—Theresa, 5th grade

Revenge: 'Tis Sweet

In my second year of directing The Shakespeare Club, a special-education teacher approached me to pitch one of her students for the club.

"Jack is special kid and I just have a feeling that he would do so well with you and the club. His mom agrees and we hope you will seriously consider him."

Oh boy. This was Year Two and I was barely out of rehab after Year One and the trauma of what classroom chaos was all about.

"I have to be honest here, I really know nothing about autism beyond what I've seen in a couple of documentaries. I'm over my head as it is...I don't know...."

"Meet him. Let him audition. Please."

"Okay, here's what I'll do. Jack can certainly audition and if after that I think it might work...I'll give it a go on a trial basis. Both you and his mom have to understand that if I don't have what it takes to help Jack...well, you know."

"That's all we ask."

Jack, a skinny boy with blonde hair and blue eyes, threw me for a loop over and over in ways that I did not predict.

In "Hamlet," I cast him as the ghost of Hamlet's father. Jack picked up his script and channeled some old English actor like Alastair Sim, famous for his portrayal of Scrooge in "A Christmas Carol."

"Haaammmlet...." Jack's voice boomed in an English accent.

I dropped my script to my lap and my jaw next to it. Where the heck was this coming from?

GHOSTMark me! My hour is almost come.
I am thy father's spirit doomed to walk the night.
At dawn I render up myself and disappear from sight.
If thou didst ever thy dear father love,
Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder!

Jack walked straight-legged as if wearing a suit of armor. He reached his arms forward as a ghost might. His voice rang out forceful, loud and clear. He took months to remember my name but he learned his lines.

The trial period was over...I was keeping Jack.

Jack suffered as many slings and arrows from his fellow club members as poor Hamlet did in the play. He was made fun of and he was excluded. One boy was dropped from the club for bullying Jack and making a false accusation.

Tears streamed down Jack's cheeks. "I didn't do that, Ms...Ms...Ms...I didn't."

Jack, in his private world, accepted most things with aplomb and just kept acting harder.

Like many children with autism Jack wasn't big on touching, but after his performance he accepted handshakes from his relatives and his teachers. He thrust his hand forward for a formal greeting.

From me, he actually allowed a hug and said my name.

"Ms. Ryane, that was great."

"You were great, Jack. You were great."

His mother sent me a note saying that when Jack was diagnosed at three years of age, they never thought they'd see a day like the day he played the ghost in Hamlet.

The next year, Jack played Juliet's suitor, Paris, in "Romeo and Juliet." He wept over his beloved's body. He laid flowers next to her. He fought in a swordfight.

By Year Four, he'd graduated and left the school, but one day as I was working privately with Luis, this came up:

"Ms. Ryane?"

"Yes, Luis."

"Remember that kid, Jack...he was that ghost guy in 'Hamlet'? He was great, wasn't he?"

"Yes, Luis he certainly was. We all learned a lot from Jack."


CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

Peter don't know how read but Peter can invited romeo to the party.

Tybailed get's mad at romeo because he is invited.

I'm playing count Paris and I want to mery Juleit but she doesn't wants to mery me she want's to mery romeo and that's make me grumpy and want to kill romeo but he kill me insted.

I like to be count paris because I have a sowrd my mom and dad is SO proud of me they did lights and sound I like the capulets best then the mantegus also I like the pizza party my favoret monetagu is romeo and my favoret capulet is count paris and my favoret part of romeo and Juliet is the fighting romeo vs count paris that’s all.

—Jack, 5th grade

Polly & Ethan: Double Play

March, 2009

William Shakespeare had twins, a son and a daughter: Hamnet and Judith.

It's likely these children influenced his writing. In his first play, "A Comedy of Errors," the riotous, rib-cracking fun arises from the antics of two sets of twins and, oh my, who's who? I'm so confused and I'm wetting my pants!

In Year Three of The Shakespeare Club, I first introduced the story of "Twelfth Night." We watched a movie version together and I had more than one club member slip me this idea:

"Ms. Ryane?" Geoffrey whispered.

"Yes?" I whispered back.

"Next year Ethan and Polly should play the twins!" He elevated his whisper.

"Do ya think?"

"Yes, because they really are twins!" And he bursts into full voice.

"Get out."

And it's true, I have a pair of ten-year-old twins, Polly and Ethan, in the club. I've said it once and I'll say it again: Sometimes casting is so easy.

When we did "Romeo & Juliet," Polly was one of our two narrators and she wanted to play a part so badly. "But, Ms. Ryane, I could learn lines...I could."

Ethan played that naughty boy, Mercutio. He struggled both with his vocal level and with learning lines, but he got his performance up to snuff in the nick of time.

When Polly was in the first grade she was held back a year "because I didn't talk or something," she tells me.

Ethan, also held back, spent his first three years in remedial study. He told his teacher he "felt dirty" in those classes even though he collected copies of Shakespeare's plays and read them at home.

In "Twelfth Night," Viola and Sebastian are at sea in a terrible storm. Their vessel is ripped apart, as are brother and sister, and they spend much of the play trying to find each other in the zany world of Illyria.

Polly, as Viola, has the longest speeches in the play. A child who had a history of not talking or something now has to carry the show.

Ethan, who is entirely self-conscious about even standing center stage, needs lots of coaxing to speak up and face out.

The three of us have challenges ahead, but none more so than the recognition scene at the end of the play:

SEBASTIANSo I stand there? I never had a brother.
Of charity, what kin are you to me?
What name? What parentage?

VIOLETOf Messaline. Sebastian was my father.
Such a Sebastian was my brother too.

Viola takes off her cap, revealing her true identity. Brother and sister step toward each other and give the audience a big aaahhh moment as they hug.

"Okay, Polly...Ethan...hug. No really, a nice hug...not hit and run."

I begged for months, never sure it would happen. They never embraced in rehearsal. Not once. They slapped at each other, they faked a fast half-clinch and separated quickly back to their corners like scaredy-cats in a prize fight.

"Okay, you two. I know this feels seriously weird to be hugging your brother or sister on stage in front of all your friends and stuff...but it's not about you anymore...it's about what's best for the audience and I think they deserve it...don't you?"

Shrug, shuffle, shrug, shuffle.

First performance...it happened...lightning fast...but it was there. I caught it out of the corner of my eye.

Then, the reaction....They heard their teachers sigh. Aaahhh.

Second performance...it happened again...slower. Ooohhh.

By the final performance they were milking it and I swear Shakespeare from on high murmured, "Yes, kids...that's what I wrote....Good stuff."



CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

Dear Dad,

Methink thy brother Sabastein is gone down in tis sea. Drown tis Sabastein, water filled thy lungs. Thy hope tis is not true, but the possiblites to high and I think only thy capin and me survived. Doom thy feel and hope he is still alive if not I might as well die. This news I hope you don't belive as much as I do.

Sincerely,
Viola

—Polly, 5th grade

Belinda: As Boundless As the Sea

When she was six years old, she stood on tip-toe at a microphone and announced her first-grade class and their song.

I froze, tingled, grabbed her teacher's arm and asked, "Who is she? I want her for The Shakespeare Club."

"That's Belinda."

Belinda arrived on Planet Earth with a voice, a point of view and raw talent. When she was eight, she played Juliet, but I couldn't for the life of me get her to look at Geoffrey, her Romeo.

"Belinda, you're spot-on. You understand the language, the character and the actions, but you have to look at him when you say, 'My love is as boundless as the sea.' "

I took Belinda and Geoffrey into the library to work privately, away from the rest of the group. They giggled, they half-looked at each other, they scanned the ceiling, the floor, the door, but...nope, they could not play the scene to each other.

"You know what, guys? When the audience comes to see the play, they know that they're not really in Verona and they know that the swords are pretend...so we have to give them something real. That's the stuff that goes on between the actors. The real stuff you to do. You have to mean it or the play won't work."

They listened quietly to me, shot each other sidelong glances and agreed to try once more for my sake...and...and....

Belinda kneeled, as if on Juliet's balcony, she spread her arms wide and looked right at her Romeo.

My love is as boundless as the sea.
My love as deep. The more I give to thee
The more I have, for both are infinite.

Geoffrey stuck his hand inside his jacket, pulled out a lollipop and handed it to her.

Real stuff. I'm not making this up. Worth the price of admission, wouldn't you say?


CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

What I learned today is that Romeo didn't want the name Romeo Montague because he liked Juliet Capulet and the Montagues and Capulets had war.

The prince said "We must stop this fighting."

The Capulets and the Montagues fighting remines me of my mom and dad.

William Shakespere was telling us about theme because people just can fight and fight until their son or daughter dies.

My character is Juilet. She lives in a castle.

—Belinda, 3rd grade (Year Three)

Luis: Laughing All the Way

February, 2009

In third grade, Luis played Marcellus in "Hamlet" and asked me over and over:

"Mith Ryane, ith Marthelluth a boy?"

"Yes, Luis, Marcellus is definitely a boy. He's a guard in Hamlet's castle."

"Are you thure?"

Luis has a tiny lisp. Spanish is the language used in Luis' home and he likes to beat his chest and announce:

"I'm Mexican!"

I find this refreshing in these troubled days of hostile immigration rhetoric.

It's easy to see how Luis might have thought Marcellus was a girl because Marcella is a popular name in Mexican culture.

In his second year in the club, Luis played Benvolio, the peacekeeping friend of Romeo. After that production, Luis tracked me down on the campus.

"Mith Ryane, what play are we doing nexth year?"

"Well, I'm thinking maybe 'Twelfth Night'?"

"Ith it a comedy?"

"Yes, it is a comedy."

"Oh good...cauth I think I'm better at comedieth."

And he is...oh, is he ever. He's born with the timing of a Catskills comic, this boy. But we have to have a meeting in my office, a bench outside Room 39.

"Luis, you have a gift."

His eyes narrow into a slightly skeptical look.

"Do you know what I mean by that?"

He shakes his head.

"I mean you have a special talent. Something you were born with. Can you guess what it is?"

"Comedy?"

"Yup. Comedy. You can make people laugh and that's fantastic. But here's the thing...I'm going to need you to do that onstage, not off."

He gives another puzzled look.

"Luis, right now in the Shakespeare Club meetings, you cannot stop yourself from making smart cracks all the time....I mean, you have Susan and Meara practically wetting their pants every time you open your mouth."

"Yeah," he agrees, and gives a little laugh. He's proud of his dazzling ways.

"But it's disturbing and gets in the way when I'm trying to teach or direct the other kids. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah." He's a bit sorry.

"Luis, I'm going to make you a promise: Concentrate, use discipline, pay attention and a spectacular thing will happen."

"Yeah?" He's interested.

"When we do 'Twelfth Night,' I promise you the laughs are going to roll across the auditorium in waves and wash over you like a giant ocean. You're going to have the best time of your life, Luis. But you have to stick with me. Don't get those dreaded xs. Don't lose your place in the club. You're going to rock, Luis. I promise. Believe me?"

"Yeah."

We slap high fives to seal the deal.

Luis' third-grade teacher wrote him off. She got frustrated with him and didn't think he worked hard enough.

Luis has trouble reading and writing. He can make a joke — but cannot not spell the word. The j and y sounds mix him up.

Check this out: The boy can read and act Shakespeare like a pro.

Introducing: Sir Andrew Aguecheek, a.k.a. Luis, a.k.a. a Shakespearean goofball.

CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

Today we finished reading the play. Ms. Ryane said they are getting parts next week. I felt like I wanted to be in the play, But that is ALL over. I hope I get over it! I feel like everything has changed. First, I wanted to do this, but now I want to do something else. But I made a promised to Ms. Ryane, so OHH WELL!!!

—Lyndon, 5th grade

Note to self: Pay attention to Lyndon.

Recess: The Setting

I don't much care for cute kids performing in cute miniature Elizabethan costumes. I'm allergic to cute costumes. In fact, I'm beyond allergic; I'm a snob about it and I don't have time to make the damn things. I'm busy enough getting a script together, collecting and making props, and rehearsing and feeding children. Because they, like all actors, will work for food.

Directors of Shakespeare's works are often noted for their ingenious settings of his plays. Some schools of thought — and I don't disagree — believe that placing the story in a modern context can help an audience hear the play anew.

Our productions have a standard format. The actors, each dressed in jeans and a Shakespeare Club T-shirt, sit onstage in a horseshoe formation. The T-shirt color is changed each year to reflect the mood of the play: black for "Hamlet," red for "Romeo and Juliet" and so on.


Props are set under each actor's chair. Because the kids are up there for the duration of the play, I sit out front and take notes. I don't have to do the old run-around-in-the-wings-pushing-children-on-for-entrances thing.

The actors help each other and solve problems on their own. Like real actors in a real theatre.

And, as happens with professional actors, bonds are made between these kids when they stand together in that odd war zone and invite an audience to laugh and cry.

In fact, they make their own case for the non-cute approach.

On Fire with the Friar

Last year, in our "Romeo and Juliet," a bright and shining fourth grader played the most difficult role of Friar Laurence. The part is a challenge because the character simply does not stop talking. He concocts plans on top of plans to save and protect the young lovers.

Lyndon, the boy playing the Friar, bravely tackled this zealous chatterbox and learned page-long speeches. Any actor would tremble at the responsibility and Lyndon was no different. His fear showed itself in the speed of his delivery.

"Lyndon, you're almost off-book and that's spectacular, but you must slooooow down."

Lyndon smiled, nodded and launched back in — faster.

"Whoa, Lyndon. Poor Juliet can't keep up with your instructions. At this rate, she might give the sleeping potion to the cat."

Lyndon shrugged, bobbed his head in complete agreement, and went — faster.

"Okay, so Romeo didn't catch the city. What if he goes to Padua instead of Mantua just because he couldn't keep up with you?"

On the day that Lyndon made his way through a particularly grueling speech and we all managed to understand it, the kids in the club gave him a spontaneous ovation and he never looked back. Lyndon was great.

Inexplicably, after his triumphant performance, Lyndon told me he might not audition for The Shakespeare Club the next year.

By the time the audition period rolled around, he was still ambivalent. But I didn't push for an answer.

Lyndon lives alone with his mom. No siblings and dad is occasional. He's academically advanced. He's a good, good kid. He stayed after every Shakespeare Club meeting to help me clean up.

What happened? Did someone make fun of him being in the club or on stage? I simply didn't know and didn't want to prod. I came up with another idea.

"Hey Lyndon, what do you think about being the club's stage manager? We've never had one before and I know you'd be wonderful. You'd be my right hand. You'd be in charge of the props, the blocking and when we do the show you'd direct a crew running lights and sound."

Lyndon liked the plan and signed on as the club's first stage manager. It would take a full year for me to learn the truth of his shying away as an actor.

In the meantime, during the audition process, Lyndon lined the littlest ones up on a bench outside the library to wait their turn to meet with me. He then carefully guided them back to class after their nervous experience. He was both commanding and gentle. He paid attention to my signals and wore authority well.

I had no clue that inside Lyndon a small seed called regret was starting to sprout.