Dreaming It Up

"A Midsummer Night's Dream" toys with the mystery of what actually happens as we sleep.

HERMIAHelp me, Lysander, help me; do thy best
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast.
Ay me, for pity! What a dream was here!
Lysander, look how I do quake with fear.
Methought a serpent eat my heart away,
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey.

In verse, Shakespeare has written a chilling speech that has the girl's heart pounding when she attempts to find reality. Was there a snake? Am I awake or asleep?

Who of us has not experienced a similar jolt after waking from a frightening dream? Sometimes my body is in a state of paralysis, followed by a painful thaw as I search for my bearings.

Many of the characters in the play struggle to know which way is up as they are sent reeling through a forest on a hot summer's night.


Did Titania really fall in love with a donkey? Did Lysander really awake enamored of Helena? Do fairies exist?

Every Wednesday I pick Henry up at another school to join us at Shakespeare Club. I look forward to the drive, when the two of us catch up on events of the past week.

"Ms. Ryane, I'm reading a really great book that's helping me in my life," Henry announced as we buckled up.

"What's the book and how is it helping you, Henry?"

"It's called 'The Boy Who Would Be King' and it helps me with my little brother, who gets kinda crazy and hits me and stuff. So, like, in the book, when bad stuff happens, the boy just walks away and stuff."


"Oh, you mean like putting up a wall or talking to the hand?"

"Yeah."

"That can work."

"Oh, and Ms. Ryane, I had this wild dream."

"What was that?"

"Well, I was dreaming that...like, I couldn't tell if I was watching this or if I was in it but it was Hamlet and...oh yeah...like, the ghost came and then it was me seeing the ghost and it was telling me to follow him but then the ghost was my dad."

"You mean your real dad? Your dad who lives far away?"

"Yeah, like my real dad and I was like Hamlet."

"Well you're doing what real actors do. That's called identifying with the character. Pretty cool."

And there we were. Which way is up? A boy dreams of a ghost dad who lives across an ocean. A boy who would be king.


CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

My nightmare was about my family sleeping and a few robbers sneakin in our house. I woke up and tried to tell my family that robbers were in the house but they didn't believe me and I had magic powers so I tried to carry my family.

I also had a dream of me going to school and coming back in front of our house but our house turns to be not their anymore a total different one. So we go in and many monsters and robbers are in their so we run out and try to find our home and our mom but we never do.

—Celia, 5th grade

A Ghost Story

"Okay, I have to tell you about this teenager."

Some of these children are nervous about a near future in middle school, where teenagers roam hallways. Some of these children are in awe of teenagers because they've seen the telltale swagger of know-it-all-ness.

All of these children want to be teenagers because they associate those kids with power.

"So, this teenager is about eighteen and going to college. His college is far away in London, and he has to get there on a ship because his home is a castle in Denmark. That's right, a castle, because this teenager is a prince. His dad is King and his mom Queen."

Right, I wanna be that teenager.

"His name is Hamlet, and while he is at school he gets a letter from his mom saying, 'Dear Hamlet, you have to come home right away because your dad died. He was taking a nap in the garden and he died.' "

Whoa, seriously?

"I know, shocking. Hamlet whips home on a ship for the funeral and then the next day, like right after the funeral, his mom, Queen Gertrude, marries his Uncle Claudius. What is up with that?"

This is why I don't miss my acting career. I have a ready audience every week.

"Hamlet goes up to the roof of the castle to see his buddies Horatio and Marcellus and some other guys he hangs with. It's freezing cold and snowing because it's winter. Hamlet is already pretty freaked out by his mom's sudden wedding when Horatio says, "Well, man, you think that's wild, check this out: The other night a ghost showed up here and he looked like your dad, the king."

I stopped walking to and fro and we all took a deep breath together.

" 'A ghost? Are you for real?' Hamlet asks, and just then the ghost appears. He's super-tall with a crown on and carries a sword, and Hamlet can kinda see through it because it's a ghost, after all, and it does look like his dad."

Seriously, seriously?

"And the ghost does this with his hand" — I made a follow-me sign — "and Hamlet starts to go with the ghost. His friends shout, 'Don't, Hamlet, don't go! You don't know that ghost...it could be evil....Please stay, Hamlet!' But Hamlet follows the ghost around a corner, and when they are alone, the ghost speaks. He says, 'I am your father, Hamlet, and I was murdered by your Uncle Claudius. He poured poison in my ear while I was taking a nap. You must kill him!' "

It is not, nor it cannot come to good.

Hamlet, Act I, Scene II

"Poor Hamlet. He's thinking, 'Criminy, I'm just a teenager. I can't be killing someone...but then again, that Uncle Claudius, what a creep he turned out to be...."

"Ms. Ryane?"

"Yes, Laci?

"Did this really happen?"

We could have been gathered at a campfire, a classroom, an auditorium or a theatre.


CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

When I wanted revenge it was on my brother cause he stuck his tongue out at me and told my mom that I stuck my tongue out at him. So I wanted revenge but I still haven't got it. I am mad at that so I will get revenge one day.

—Bridget, 3rd grade

snow photo by Flick user Betty Olsen; Hamlet photo from Shakespeare Theatre Company

Spring Break

Walking about the campus, I can spot teachers internally calculating. Some are counting to the halfway point of their school year, and others are adding up the days to ye olde recovery week, when hope might spring eternal.

Here's my list of DOs and DON'Ts for spring break:

DON'T DO THIS

1. Do not check into a hotel. Not a Motel 6, and not the Four Seasons. Not in sunny climes, nor in neighborhoods known for mere drops of sunshine. Avoid every hotel room everywhere because it's spring break and mobs of teenagers will check in.

Said youth will save dollars by sleeping twelve to a room. They will guzzle liquor then run up and down hallways, screaming about guzzling liquor. They will be sick, pass out, and start all over again. For an entire week.

Industrial earplugs will not help and calling the front desk will not help.

You will not sleep and you will not recoup from the nasty viruses which have been circulating in these young crowds from November to April.


2. Do not patronize movieplexes showing blockbuster spring break fare. Crowds at such places crawl with viruses and the popcorn has thousands of calories, even without the "butter" topping.

DO THIS

1. Teach children food preparation.


Start with a fruit salad. A knife is not needed. Give them bananas to peel and break into chunks. Give them berries to rinse and pour into a bowl. Little fingers can dislodge the stems of strawberries and split the morsels in two. Let them pour yogurt over the mixture and tell them they now run the kitchen while you nap.


2. Take a walk somewhere you've never been. Breathe deeply, look, and do not speak. If you're with children who say I'M BORED, shrug and continue strolling.

3. Attend a foreign-language movie. No one will be there and you can bring your own popcorn; it's expected.

4. Look at the ceiling. Consider the cobwebs, but don't remove them.

5. Eat Indian food and sweat out all impurities.

IT'S CALLED A BREAK...TAKE IT


CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

If I was queen I would eat baccon, eggs, and milk for breekfast. egg salled sandwiches, egg, picls, and sourdow bread, and strawberry juce for dinner. I would have steak and water. I would rule roam. I would have a three story manchen with balcony in every room. I would sleep in a huge huge bed room, with a big window.

—Rebecca, 3rd grade

Say What?

Hermia doesn't want to obey her dad. He says, "You will marry Demetrius, the boy I chose for you."

Hermia runs away with Lysander.

Obey. It's a tough and unsavory word.

I once fantasized living my life as a nun. Really, three squares a day and not a bad uniform — which would end my struggle with shopping for trendy apparel. And I would perform good works in the world.

That's how I saw it. Maria von Trapp and me: one and the same.

Until I reckoned with that word: obey.

"Oh hey, Mom Superior, thought today I'd bake a chocolate three-layer for the girls."

Nope, latrines on the double.

"What about me and the gang hiking to the top of a hillside while exercising our pipes with top ten tunes?"

Nope, potatoes. Twenty-five pounds' worth.

And that's why they're called fantasies.

Obey is a reality for kids. They have to obey parents, teachers, coaches, babysitters, piano teachers, and me. My heart goes out to them.

As does Shakespeare's. His opinion on obey is clear. Hermia doesn't obey and she ends up fine, with exactly who she wanted in the first place, Lysander.

And that's why they're called plays.

I asked the kids to write about that word: OBEY.

CHILDREN'S WRITES: Journal Entries

I first start for breakfast in the morning in a summer day, 12:00-2:00 pm for lunch, 3:00-5:00pm for dinner. The rest of the time is for video games. Sometimes my grandma says to stop playing video games. I say, "OK." And then I have to read a book.

—Vincent, 5th grade

Once when I was at camp we were playing freze dance. I had to dance big and move more that I was but I admit I am shy so I felt sort of embarist but I still did it because I had to and because I like freeze dance. P.S. it was the first day so I didn't know any one but my one friend.

—Rebecca, 3rd grade

Last year I had to obey Ms. Ryane when I didn't want to do the exricusie and the scripted but I did it any way and look at me now I am in the Shakesphere now and I was in last year. I love Shakesphere and I will love it for the rest of my life even when I die I will still love it.

—Wendy, 4th grade

Today my dad said I have to drink some honey medicune to make my coffe go away but I said no because to me it is nasty so had to obey him bye drinking it and i spit it out in my bathroom.
On Monday I went to the doctors and they give me a grown up peal to swallow then my mom said swallow it. When the doctor left I ate half of it and I spit it out in my mom's hand. I had to obey the doctors that way they can make my throught infection go away.

—Krystal, 4th grade

Once I had to write a paper on flys. I had a very big fit because I hated flys. I thought they were distausting. I told my mom I did not want to. When I talked back to her she got extremly upset with the way I talked to her. When she told me to go to my room. Instead of going to my room I acted like I was going there but I went to the basement so I could play with something instead of being bored. After about 5 minutes she gave me a pencil and paper to write my paper.

—Phoebe, 5th grade

Once when I was early in the morning when my mom told me to go clean my room. I didn't want to because my room was a mess. I had to first fix my book case, make my bed, clean off my dresser, the top of my book case, orginize my trophies, clean out my electronics, put away my clothes, orginize my drawers, try on my shoes, try on my clothes, fix my drawers, go through all my toys and try on my jackets. It was too mutch and took me all DAY. Now I know to always clean my room right away.

—Ellie, 5th grade

A Class Act-or

Alas, classy behavior can be a rare commodity. It's usually jerk behavior grabbing headlines and holding the attention of our voracious collective consciousness.

"Okay, today I'd like to address the issue of classy actors versus jerk actors."

They respond to the word jerk by sharing smirks and sitting up to hear all about world-class jerks.

"No one likes a jerk actor. No one. Ever."

On the board I write JERK and next to it CLASSY.

"Jerk actors make fun of other actors, talk while other actors are onstage, tell other actors what to do — and whose job is that, by the way?"

They look to each other for the answer.

"Whose job is it to direct the actors?" I repeat.

Oh yeah.

"Yours, Ms. Ryane!"

"Correct. So jerk actors try to take my job away and I don't like it."

I list the jerk items on the board.

"Now, let's take a look at what classy actors do."


"I know," Mark has his hand in the air. "They let you tell the actors what to do."

"Correct, and what other things?"

Mmmm.

"Well, for one thing," I forge ahead, "they live up their mottos. They help and share with each other. Look up there at that stage."

They turn in their seats and take a look at the empty stage.


"When you perform 'A Midsummer Night's Dream,' I will not be up there helping you. My job will be done. Now, look at each other. Right now, take a look."

They swivel their heads this way and that.

"This is your other family. These are your new brothers and sisters. You will help each other up there to do your best. If a prop breaks or goes missing, if an actor forgets a line or an entrance...it won't be me helping you, no sirree. It will be you guys helping each other."

Jeepers.

"So, we have to start with choosing to be classy actors and that begins with not talking while another actor is talking."

Easily said. It will take weeks of me talking about not talking to prevent the intrusive talking, talking and more talking.

"Peter's mom told me a story of when she was acting in a romantic scene and the actor she was working with excused himself for a moment and ran his hands under hot water. Do you know why he did that?"

"His hands were dirty?" Dominick suggested.

"Nope, his hands were cold. He had to put a hand on her face and he wanted it to be warm."

They look at their hands.

"That was a classy actor and I'm keeping my eyes out for classy actors. Let's rehearse the gentlemen leading the ladies to their seats. Fellas, get this right and your parents will be blown away."

CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

If I was a groundling I would think that to stand up wouldn't be fear and that I since had a thought it isn't fear I would maybe throw rotten fruit at the rich people but that wounn't really be nice but it worth it because it not really fear that only the rich people get to sit down. It not my fault that my boss didn't pay me.

—Carina, 3rd grade

Titania's Baby

Her name is Elisa and she's in third grade.

Elisa is a glass-is-half-full kind of gal. For no good reason, she'll shoot you a smile. You don't need to hand out a compliment, a joke or a "How ya doin', Elisa?" She'll give you a free one anyway. Just that kind of kid.

Elisa is one of the five girls in the Plot People. She gobbles up the little mandarin oranges I bring to our lunch meetings, following that with a handful of oatmeal-raisin cookies, and chases those with a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos.

Elisa's high on life and she dove head-first into the story of "A Midsummer Night's Dream," with its cast of fairies and lovers and goofball mechanicals.

Elisa fills her journal with writings and drawings when I suggest themes.

When we explored William Shakespeare's choice to leave his wife and kids in Stratford for glory in London, Elisa drew a picture of Anne Hathaway at home under a sun and Shakespeare at his desk under a moon.

Dear William,

I love if you come home. Everyone miss you. Please come back I hope you get this litter.

P.S. I love you and the family. I can't wait for you so much.

Dear Annie,

I love you to. I'll come home on Friday. I hop I can go home.

P.S. I will see you soon.

We discussed the play's story of love, and Elisa wrote about her dog, which had recently had pups.

I like my dog because she likes food when I give her and I pet her pupes but she is looking at the food and when she is in the car some time she see me so she comes and gets made and bite me.

If I can be everything I will be a puppy and cry for food and toys and live in the mountins and clim as fast as I can for I can eat enthing.

This story was illustrated with a puppy alone at the top of a giant hill.

In Shakespeare's play, Titania, Queen of the Fairies, has adopted a baby fairy after the death of the baby's mother.

"Ms. Ryane, how did that mom die?" asked Tandi, another girl in our group.

"Well, Shakespeare doesn't tell us how she died but sometimes...back in the olden days, moms died when they gave birth to a baby."

"That happened to my mom," Elisa said.

She was sitting to my left. I turned to find her eyes.

"What do you mean, Elisa? Who takes care of you?"

"My grandma and my dad. My mom died when I was a baby. She was holding me for five or eight minutes and then she died. My grandma is going to tell me all about her on my birthday when I turn ten."

The four other girls at the table looked up from their books. Our circle was silent.

"See my hair?" Elisa asked me.

Elisa's hair was braided into two pigtails springing out the sides of her head. Her eyes were bright with the question.

"Yes, I noticed it was a different style today. Did you do that yourself?"

"Yes! I did it special 'cause it's my mom's birthday."

"You did a good job. It looks amazing."

"That's a hard story to tell," Millie offered.

"Yes, it is," I answered, "and I think we're all honored that Elisa shared it with us."

My Mom

When I was a baby my mom died for 5 or 8 minutes and I allwase dream about her. I miss you mom so much.

She is 23 year old. I miss her.

The drawing for this entry was the profile of a huge hospital bed with little wheels for feet. At the head of the bed was an itsy-bitsy mom holding a tiny baby. At the foot of the bed was a large nurse dressed in black.

Sometimes...back in the olden days....


CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

If I had Pucks power I would make everyone be nice to each other. If not I would make everyone say what they feel inside that they might be afraid to say. The last thing I would make every one around the world have enofe food enufe water and enuf shelter, basicly every thing you need to live a nice healthy life.

—Rebecca, 3rd grade

Goldfish and Mechanicals

Honestly, I have no idea what Will Shakespeare was on, up there in his London garret, when he spun his complicated tales. But I'm guessing he sniffed a little too much ink because it can be tricky to keep track.

"A Midsummer Night's Dream" is certainly not the most elaborate of the Bard's plots, but it's still a tangled story of mortals and fairies alike falling in love with unlikely partners.

In a weekly lunch group called the Plot People, I meet with five girls to unravel the twists and turns of the play.

These girls will be the point people in their classrooms as teachers prep students to see the production.

Every week I offer a pop quiz to the girls.

"Okay, who are the mechanicals?"

The actors!

"Right. And why are they called mechanicals?"

Because! Um. Let's see. Oh, I remember. Because they're like work-people or something like that?

"Exactly. They would be like the mechanics in the village, the working folk who are also part-time actors. Why would there be actors, anyway?"

Because! Um. I know, I know...because like if there was a party or a wedding or something...they could have a play.

"Perfect. Now in 'A Midsummer Night's Dream,' four teenagers end up in the forest, all mixed up. Anyone remember how that goes?"

The girls cast each other looks to see who might speak up first.

Um, well that guy...I know! Lysander! Well...he loves....I know!...I forgot....

And then Tandi, a third-grader, came up with a solution to navigate the hijinks of crazed teenagers in an Athenian forest.

Out of her lunchbox, Tandi grabbed a handful of goldfish crackers. She named each one, picked them up and had them speak to each other.

"Oh, Hermia, I love you!" she pitched her voice high. "Oh, Lysander, I love you too! Let's run away to my aunt's house and get married! Okay!"

Enthralled, we watched one of Shakespeare's enduring comedies portrayed by the Acting Company of Pepperidge Farm.

Whatever it takes, I say. Crunch.

CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

I am Puck. I want to keep Oberon safe and sound. I also hope he gets more faries. But I'll be his favorite. I will give him the most berries and they will be delicous. I will get the best berries from Oberon too. No one will stop me. I'm the best Puck in the world. I will also find the flower that he will need to get the baby! Oberon will be so proud of me because I'm the only farie that will get attention. I will make me a dress with red wild berries to squeeze the color. I am also Oberon's only farie.

—Sabrina, 4th grade

mechanicals: Andrew Murad/New York Times

Tailor Made

The boys want a part that requires a crown or a sword.

The girls want a part that requires a crown or...well, being a girl would be great.

This is Shakespeare, so roles for girls are few. As the day of our casting announcements dawned, the kids were quivery with excitement and my nerves were jangled. By day's end, there would be thrilled actors...and not-so-thrilled actors.

They trembled in their seats as I started my announcements. I had twenty-one parts and twenty actors. One girl, Rebecca, would play two small parts — Queen Hippolyta and the fairy Cobweb — with maybe six lines total.

Bailey clapped her hands to hear she would be our Hermia. Ellie scrunched her shoulders with a sly smile after knowing she would be Helena. Phoebe beamed upon hearing that Titania was hers, and the four fairies were delighted to be fairies...'cause they can fly and be magical and stuff.

"I don't want to be Robin Starveling," a little voice piped.

"Oh, Audrey," I met her big blue eyes. "You're not so happy with the casting?"

She shook her head side to side while maintaining a firm connection to my face.

"You don't want to play Robin Starveling?"

"No, I don't want to play Robin Starveling."

Audrey is in third grade. A serious child and remarkably brave, I thought, to be the only actor voicing protest in what she deemed an unfair casting decision.

"Yup, Audrey, I get that. Robin Starveling was not your first choice." I dropped to my knees so we could be face to face. "You and I are going to have a private work session and we're going to take a look at the role of Robin Starveling, okay?"

She nodded but I could see she was not convinced this would end well.

A few days later, Audrey and I sat together in the library with our scripts open.

"First off, tell me why you don't want to play Robin Starveling."

"Well, I have done two plays before," she started, as if I had perhaps forgotten to study her resume, or to speak to "her people" before making my rash decision.

"Hmmm, okay. What else?"

"Well, I've never played a boy!"

"Okay, let's think about this. The character is named Robin and that could be a girl or a boy, right?"

She gave a tiny nod as she thought that over.

"And what is Robin Starveling's job?" I asked.

"A tailor."

"Right, and what does a tailor do?"

"Well, fix this, for one thing." She drew my attention to a small hole in her blue jeans.

"Correct, a tailor would do that, but also a tailor could also be a great designer. Like say, what if I came to your shop and said, 'Robin Starveling, I'm going to Duke Theseus' wedding and I would like a new coat in maybe purple velvet with maybe beautiful buttons made of diamonds or rubies....Oh, Robin, you're so talented, you decide.' See, that could be Robin Starveling."

The pennies dropped like shiny emeralds and sapphires.

Robin Starveling, Designer to the Stars.

Audrey, content eight-year-old.

CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

In the play I am Robin Starveling. I live in a house like this. It is a small but charming little house. I live upstairs, my shop is downstairs. I am a tailor. I look like this.

I get many customers. My shop is better than the other Tailor's shop. His is big, but he is not as good. Mine is also more private. I only allow one customer at a time.

—Audrey, 3rd grade

Boys to Men

"Okay fellas, we got trouble."

The culprits sat on a picnic bench facing me. Three fifth-grade boys.

Blink.

"If I say to Mark, 'Hey, let's go over to that game store on Venice. They have tons of great games there. You talk to the owner...like come up with dumb questions and stuff...and I'll just snatch a couple of games and then we can share them, okay?' "

Eyes wide.

"Let's say we do that. Mark didn't steal, right?"

The boys shake their heads as one. Nope, Mark's good. He didn't do anything wrong.

"Okay, try this on for size: What if Dominick says mean things to a girl in Shakespeare Club? And Mark and Oliver laugh and egg him on, but it was really Dominick that was bad, right?"

Nods up and down from Mark and Oliver. Oddly, Dominick was still.

"Wrong. You all couldn't be more wrong. In this country, we have something called being an accessory to a crime. In this country, if you aid and abet, which means helped or encouraged, you're all wrong. So, when I go to jail, Mark's going to jail. When Dominick goes to prison, Mark and Oliver are in the next cell."

Mark's hand flies up.

"But, Ms. Ryane, I didn't—"

"Before you go any further, did you try to stop Dominick? Did either of you say, 'Hey man, not cool?' "

Not so much.

"A few years ago I had to fire a boy from the Shakespeare Club for bullying. He got three xs and he had to go. He cried. He begged. His teacher and I sat down with him and he cried some more. But you know what? That boy became a better boy. His schoolwork improved. He stopped bullying. He became his best self. So, as you see, I have a problem here, right?"

Sort of see, but not really. No, we really don't see that.

"I can find another Demetrius, another Theseus, another Oberon. Believe me, I have a long list of kids waiting to play those parts."

With furrowed brows they understood that.

"One of the jobs adults at school have is not just to make sure that you're good boys, but that you grow into good teenagers and become great men. If I kick you out today, there's a good chance that will happen. See what I mean? I have a problem."

Their worn sneakers suddenly became very interesting.

"I hear everything because everyone tells me everything and lots of people think you should be kicked out."

What?

"I like you and I love you, but you have lost my respect."

We sat with that. A spring breeze riffled over us. A bird tweeted.

"You each have xs. You are each very close to the edge. I'm watching and listening. I want people to tell me the kind things you've done. I want to hear really good things about you. You need to get my respect back."

It's near impossible to get boys to sit still, but they were still that day.

We'll see.

CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

If I was Queen during William Shakespeare's time I would invite him to my palace and let live there. He would get the second best room (I would get the best). He would get very nice clothes. He would also get good food. He would peform for me at my palace.

—Audrey, 3rd grade