Revisiting Milk V. Meat

Revisiting Milk v. Meat

Remember the post about feeding them meat when they need milk? That concept has been my salvation this summer. There are certain phrases and lessons over a lifetime that stay with you forever – like my mother hollering “Heel, Toe” down the street so her pigeon-toed daughter would walk with dignity. Or the time in 8th grade when she explained that we either accept our friends with their good and bad attributes or we reject them entirely because of an attribute that we cannot accept. There’s my college professor refusing to write a grad school recommendation with the comment that I’m no pie in the sky – a defining moment that has motivated me to constantly attempt to prove him wrong. There’s the beloved Sister Peg who told a troubled young woman to Keep Her Power – a phrase that is tattooed on my soul, a phrase I use constantly with my students. And there’s Miss Joanne Finley of the North Rampart Community Center preaching that each child is precious and warning us not to feed them meat when what they need is milk. Thank you, Miss Joanne!!!

Sometimes I lose sight of the milk because my sights are set on the meat. I have very high standards and expectations. I love the ENTIRE theatre experience, not just acting. I love the visual – the lights and costumes and set – and figuring out how they help to tell the story. I adore the words, the way a playwright uses language, the choice of one word over another to convey all the little details the other word would have missed. I love plot points and character and relationship. I love adding dance and music to complete the picture. In my school year life, I teach all of that to varying degrees of success. I demand final consonants and I strive to remove the double-diphthong from words like brown and the twang from words like dance. I expect full commitment of the mind, heart and soul. I am overjoyed to tell you that my school year kiddos DELIVER. They want every tidbit of theatre that they can devour. Of course, they will hold back and try to deliver less until about 3 days before opening. They will push me over the edge, forcing me to deliver one of my furious, passionate speeches that leaves us all in tears and brings us back the next day with greater resolve and bigger hearts. My school year kids are ready for solid food. They have had multiple opportunities at school to perform, whether in classroom skits or science fair presentations or concerts and plays.

My babies at the Community Center are just learning to digest milk. They have had few, if any, opportunities to perform in public. They are scared to stand in front of an audience and they aren’t ready to let us know how much they love saying those lines. They need mother’s milk or formula – something they can digest without causing them upset.

FRIDAY, JULY 23rd. It’s show day and energy is at an apex, as is fear in all its forms. The kids are anxious, but focused and committed, too. I don’t know how to explain the fear, but I can feel it radiating off their little, loud bodies. Their families are nervous, as well. They file in on time, respectful and quiet and completely focused on what is about to happen. I am sincerely hoping that these children will behave like my Culver City children. They always deliver on show day. They surprise me every time with new creative impulses, incredible commitment, and unabashed joy. I’m hoping the North Rampart boys and girls will do the same. Jane, Jane, Jane. What are you doing at the meat counter when you should be in the dairy section? I forget that they live a different life and have a different way of tackling challenges. For many of my NOLA tribe, the solution for fear is to numb the face and body so no one knows how you’re feeling – whether it’s happiness or terror. They reduce their emotional capacity to 50%. Vulnerability is just not acceptable. They have learned to steel themselves in their lives outside the center and that survival instinct is kicking in strong. The children follow all the rules, but they check their hearts at the door. And this is when I realize that I’m expecting them to eat meat and they’re just learning to drink milk. And I relax and rejoice that they have this moment in time to experience the charge between audience and performer. I love that they have this beautiful privilege to execute a job well done. Did our performance sparkle the way it had in the safety of our classroom? Not really. But it sparkled in a different way. And it provided nourishment. This I know with no reserve.

Those children walked into that big gymnasium with the A/C loudly whirring and they were heard. They made their statements. They sassed, “LADIES FIRST!” They announced that they were phenomenal and told us all why. They were brave and creative. I know how far they’ve come in 4 short weeks. I know how scary it is to get up in front of people you know and love and put yourself on the line. You can hear it in the rapid pace of my chatter at the audience and the many times I swallow hard. Performing takes COURAGE and STRENGTH – qualities my kids have in abundance. At first, this little performance may not resemble the performances we offer at my school. Look closer. Look for the inspiration. Listen for the words the Big Boys and Girls wrote about themselves. Consider the battles these kids fight every day and you have to hug each one for taking a chance and being heard. In many ways, this is a far bigger challenge than most of the meat-eating kids back home will have to take. And the words these children wrote and declared are far deeper and more insightful than any I’ve read or heard in a long time.

I wish the Little Girls had roared as tigers and smiled more. I wish the Little Boys had exhibited the gusto they have in class. I wish the Big Girls had slowed down just a bit to savor the moment. I wish that the Big Boys had been loud and proud like they were in our classroom. I wish that they had NOT sought safety in the scripts. I wish they had leaned over that balcony and bellowed in your faces. I wish this because this is who they truly are. I wanted to share that with you. Still, I am proud of the work we did together.

Teaching middle school aged children is a constant challenge. Their minds and bodies are in a state of crazy change and they often don’t understand their behavior any more than we do. They are becoming self-aware and that often creates inhibitors and prevents them from jumping heart-first into projects the way the younger children do. It can discourage a teacher. Even though we encounter this daily and understand it all, we forget. There are days when I really don’t know how to teach them at all. The best thing I can do is to try again tomorrow…and forgive myself. AND remind myself to provide the milk if the meat is too much for their delicate systems.

I love being with the New Orleans kids. They have fatigued me in ways I never imagined. They test me and tire me and exhaust me. We’ve only just begun our work. There is so much more we can do! One of my Big Boys, Nathaniel, dropped out of the class when we moved from writing to performing. He hated speaking up, hearing his voice, declaring himself with confidence. He asked me if he could switch to computers. I told him to do whatever makes him comfortable. “But can we still say ‘hey’ in the halls and stuff like that?” I reassured him that the connection between us wouldn’t be broken. After the performance, he came up to me and said that, next summer, he would take drama with me. He regretted his decision to choose computers and was inspired to take the risk. Yeah! Big moment for my heart.

There were lots of little moments like that. Nykia, a Big Girl who had been so distant and resistant, suddenly transformed. She went from complete denial to excitement and happiness. She kept hugging me, all day long, and telling me how much she would miss me. Of all the kids in my classes, I had the weakest relationship with her. I struggled constantly to get her to speak up, write something more than the obvious, take risks. To be frank, she was a real pain in the butt. Yet, on our last day together, she experienced something wonderful on stage and made the choice to trust herself, and me, and enjoy herself! What a great day this has been!

I am sad. I love these kids so much. My beautiful Malik, his adorable little brother Marquis. Do you know what it’s like to have a little 8 year old boy who is constantly seeking affection from you? A little boy who sits in your lap and loves you? I’m not a mother, so this kind of open affection is a gift from the heavens. And Malik – searching the halls for me every morning so he can schlep my belongings up and down the stairs. He was the captain of the Little Boys team and my go-to kid. Watch him in the video. He’s so ready to deliver. I can’t accept that I may not see the children again. I simply have to return next summer. I got so many hugs from all the kids today and I’m trying to hold on to that feeling as long as I can.

Anthony, a 14 year old boy, couldn’t do the show because of commitments to his new school during the morning hours. Still, he came back that afternoon to say goodbye. He actually had his father drive him to the center so he could have one more class. Amazing and touching and oh-my-god awesome. His little sister is Jada – the one who won’t talk in front of her classmates and only speaks aloud to a few friends in the hall and to me. She eats lunch with me every day and clings to me when the more popular kids are in full effect. She gets to me – lives in a cozy place in my heart. I know you can’t really hear her in the performance, but the point is this: SHE SPOKE!! She spoke louder than she ever has and that’s what matters. Anthony even commented about it. He told me his parents had remarked about Jada saying her lines. We were all proud and amazed. She’s adorable.

I will miss each and every child.

My Little Boys,
Marquis, my squirmy little boy who snuggles under my arm and lays his head in my lap during rest time in class.
Malik, my personal assistant, always on the lookout to lend a helping hand and prove his leadership.
Josh, eager to help and just as eager to indulge every impulse.
Noahble, as eccentric as he is wonderful.
Tremayne, musical and gorgeous with a complete disregard for the rules
Charles alias Sean alias Snoopy, bright and articulate and funny
Derrick, who begins all his lines with a big sigh and a few “Okays”
J’Quan, a willing performer who simply can’t stop antagonizing Josh
Desmond, sweet and confused, a boy who would prefer to simply play all day

My Big Boys,
Kyron, a fierce leader
Nathaniel, the clown
Ashton, the beauty
Anthony, smart and sweet
Aspen, a leader and a challenger
Ahmad, always happy and a team player
Alex, destined for greatness, a black man rising
Cori, a smile that lights up the room
Ivan, the thoughtful, gentle giant

My Big Girls
Kora, a born poet grappling with her inner pain and rage.
Jewel, just figuring out who she wants to be.
Zion, afraid of nothing, scared of everything.
Kirstyn, a beauty and a talent, protecting her siblings and dreaming of a way out.
Faith, smart and secure and happy.
Nykia, sculpting out her place and unsure if she should take a risk.

My Little Girls
Chelsie with her perky persona and darling voice
Alaina, a pretty little doll bossing everyone around.
Heather, chasing Tremayne all over the building and sparkling on stage.
Kennedi, eager and excited and quick to melt down.
Keriyanna, so smart and filled with joy and music.
Herschell, wildly feisty and stingy with her smile
Jada, sweet and soft and frightened of her own voice


I don’t really know when my heart will mend. I sat on the couch with a pile of Mardi Gras beads and cried my head off. I don’t want to let go of any of it – even the hot weather and humidity. Where else can you wear boho sundresses at every hour? It never cools off! I love the New Orleans sundresses. I love the ironwork and the balconies. I love being called Miss Jane by adults. I love Coach Parker and Miss Joanne and wild, noisy children. I love the North Rampart Community Center for believing in each kid, seeing each kid individually, and never giving up on any of them. I love living in the truth here. It all feels right. I feel welcomed and trusted and appreciated, and that’s not something one walks away from with ease.

At the end of the day, I call myself lucky and grateful and I say a quiet prayer of thanks for this journey. There is no doubt that I will return to Culver City in the Fall as a better teacher, whether the curriculum calls for meat or milk. Either way, I’m ready.