This past week was our school’s sixth grade talent show. The talent show is just one of a few annual performance traditions in the school (others include the Thanksgiving assembly, the fifth grade play, and a residency with artists Nikki Hu and Guy Van Duser that culminates in a Grandparent and Special Elder Day presentation).
While I’ve seen many fifth-grade play performances (there are two a year, and my eldest son insisted upon attending as soon as he learned there was such a thing way back when he was still in preschool), this was only my second talent show viewing (my second child’s a sixth grader). Both the fifth grade play and the sixth grade talent show require a great deal of teacher support, most especially from one of the kindest and most supportive music teachers I know, Cindy Naughton, whose gift for helping kids rise up (no pulling, no tugging, no berating; I think she practically employs levitation) is truly stunning. The classroom teachers must have embedded in their tissue huge chunks of Shakespeare and silly skit dialogues and a few tried-and-true songs to boot. Others at the school and parents round out impressive ”support teams” for each such event.
Like many rituals in the school, how they began no longer seems to be common knowledge; they seem simply to exist. These fixtures are not to be moved (or questioned). Parents are instead told about outcomes: for example, we’re told that talent show preparation begins during the sixth grade’s visit to Nature’s Classroom and both the trip and the show serve as bonding experiences. Parents nod their heads because bonding is a good thing. After the (totally wonderful) trip to Nature’s Classroom, I heard nothing about the talent show from Lucien (in fact, I didn’t much about the trip, either, in contrast to his brother, Ezekiel’s hours-long breathless play-by-play rundown of the trip, from ort to play-with-your-food facials to his renditions of practically every skit and song). Only when talent show rehearsals began during school did Lucien discuss what he wanted to do, and that was a skit with two friends. He also wanted to be part of the stage crew. From my understanding, kids must appear onstage in one “act” although they can appear in two. And this year, an art show in the front hallway added to the showcased talents (Lucien was amongst ten participants in the exhibit, which was stunning).
Lucien and friends Kate and Oliver rehearsed in school and out of school. The process was fun for him (fun, punctuated by each of the trio’s absences for illness). During the early grades, Lucien was a reluctant performer but he surprised himself and us by seeking out a considerable speaking role in the fifth grade play (and doing beautifully, adds the proud mama).
Because the fifth grade play always feels pretty much the same year to year—it’s variations on a theme: sometimes more polished, other times with a superstar overshadowing the rest, and always (for me) somewhat incomprehensible in the nicest of ways—I expected the same to hold true for the talent show. Although Ezekiel’s year included some recital-style acts, the overriding tone of the evening felt homespun, with skits and a tear-jerking rendition of Time of Your Life featuring two girls and their teacher. While at Nature’s Classroom, Ezekiel and pals created a very funny skit about a doctor’s cures for phobias. Three goofy and stage-averse guys vamped it up lip-syncing and dancing to the Moldavian band O-Zone’s pop hit Numa Numa. The talent show was playful. Not surprisingly, the process of pulling the show together did seem quite bonding for the kids.
This year’s talent show felt quite different from two years beforehand. Many more kids in this cohort chose to perform things they study out of school (or, as Lucien said, “The younger kids will think it’s boring: too much talent.”). Not that the kids weren’t impressive (indeed, they were!), however, this show—so much more recital-like in feel—wasn’t fun in the same way (example: no one cracked up whilst performing). I kind of missed the lack of polish and those moments of pure hilarity (there was some, including the silly opening skit that Lucien, Kate and Oliver dreamed up), and the palpable sense that they were in it together for—and with—one another. I found myself wondering whether the promised outcome of the talent show had been lost, somehow.
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That question brought me to a familiar place: with a torrent of tradition in a very well established school, I often wish there was more room to reflect upon routines and curriculum and traditions. I do, you’ll have to take my word about this, admire tradition. I went to Hampshire College, a very young (turning forty!) college (in its ‘tween and teen years when I attended) and I served on its Board of Trustees; believe you me, we longed for a little more capital ‘T’ tradition. When the now-iconic bell, rung when a Division III thesis project passes, rings, I love hearing it chime. The bell signals everyone in hearing range that a major accomplishment just occurred. The metaphor is so apt at Hampshire; the bell provides a way for important individual achievement to be acknowledged in the larger, sometimes disparate community.
I am sure the talent show came about with a sincere, specific goal and I do not need to be convinced that bonding is especially worthwhile in sixth grade, as elementary school reaches closure and as adolescence swoops down person by person and as new horizons loom for each almost-middle school student in the cohort. Here’s my broader hope: that the fast pace and very full roster of school activities (including routines and rituals) be slowed enough to be sure that these routines and rituals are still serving their original purpose (and to make sure those purposes remain the ones the school wants to emphasize). This is a tall order in a busy, fast-paced world and a busy, busy elementary school (where the request for such self-reflection always seems to be considered somewhat blasphemous).
Underneath these questions about school is the sense that parenting in this era when parenting is supposed to be so driven (organized sports beginning in kindergarten, and on from there) makes not pushing feel like it’s become a radical choice. I’ll admit that watching all those kids exhibiting their learned talents onstage got me thinking about my first grader who has refused all extracurricular activities in favor of playing cards, drawing, and digging a hole in our backyard.
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After the show, I kept flashing to how a wonderful New York artist acquaintance of mine (click, admire), Gwyneth Leech, decided to apply for a census job just weeks after having a solo exhibition, because she wants to know her neighbors better (presumably, being paid to meet folks in the ‘hood is fine, too). Talent alone really does not assure success, much as we might fantasize this to be the case. The structures of work are crumbling for so many people (I can vouch for that as a writer with a pretty precarious and very much self-initiated work life), I know that there is a lot to prepare for, yet I’m pretty certain that grooming talent alone is not the best preparation. I have a strong hunch that team building and bonding is going to prove to be pretty darn important for this next generation. And beyond preparing for the future, I do believe that a strong sense of fun and bonding amongst friends is really critical to a good now.
