We've officially reached—OK, passed—the part of the year where the Exit 16 kids stop treating me as an authority figure.
Which is fine. I stop feeling like one at this point, too. The Chicago trip is over. Basic training is done. Show planning is turned over to them. I basically show up, run rehearsals and tech the shows. Not a bad gig.
Tonight, we worked the Miles Stroth want and mapping exercises I'd alluded to in their previous rehearsal. One of the amazing things about Miles was that he played the games with the kids as he taught them all those years ago. Having the flu and no precedent for participating in rehearsal exercises, I just explained and side-coached (and worried a little that the exercises wouldn't work).
Good exercises are good exercises. For the mapping games, we pretty much lifted the set-ups referenced above—with a little toning down for the high school audience. I was amazed at the emotional depth of the scenes. I. and E. mapped "breaking up" to "returning a shirt," for an incredibly angsty little scene—climaxing in E., who'd been accused of giving up on torn shirts without even attempting to repair them, saying, "I have fixed shirts before," and a very wounded I. responding, "The hell you have!"
Yeah, you had to be there. Trust me, though.
Now it's time to let the Robitussin PM do its job. I stayed home from work today—mostly because if anyone else comes in as germ ridden as I may be right now, I try my best to convince them to go home. Tonight, I stayed a good 10 feet way from the youngsters and hand-sanitized like a mofo; I couldn't exactly tell them, "Hey, we're skipping another week" or they'd explode. I've seen people knocked on their asses for two weeks with what I may be coming down with, and I really can't afford to get sick right now. Too much going on.