A Little Bit of Background

As you may (or may not) know, I moved from a small city in Central Massachusetts to a suburban coastal town on the South Shore the summer before my sophomore year. Unlike the beginning of so many cliche high school movies in which a kid is totally uprooted from their former life without any say, I had practically (and when I say “practically”, I mean totally and completely) begged my mother to relocate.

Early that September, I began my second year of high school as a transfer student in a new town. The only person I actually knew at school would be my cousin, who was in the same grade as me. While we were friends, there was a mutual unspoken agreement between us that we would have no absolutely acknowledgement of the other’s existence while at school (which we managed to successfully do until our senior year, when we were put in the same math class; at that point, interaction was kind of inevitable).

My initial schedule was something completely treacherous. It was so bad that it indicated I had done something truly terrible in a past life. By some cosmic mishap, I was placed in not one but two freshman gym classes (and with my athletic ability, one was more than enough).

In a state of utter desperation, I sent a panicked email to my guidance counselor the minute I got home my third day, when I had realized double gym would, in fact, be hell. I had been somewhat optimistic on the first and second days, when our gym teachers talked about their plans to offer yoga and walking alternatives, but my hopes were dashed on day three when we began playing a game called “pickle ball.”

Presumably to avoid getting any more emails of the kind, my guidance counselor quickly corrected my schedule. At the time, I thought it was some miraculous stroke of faith that I had been placed into Acting, Improv, and More; I would later learn that my mother, acting on her incredible intuition, spoke to my guidance counselor without my knowledge and asked if she could place me in a drama class - and that was the start of everything…

An Open Letter to My High School Drama Club

Not to be dramatic (but let’s face it, that’s kind of inevitable - I am a drama kid), but my involvement in high school theater was life-changing. I had such a unique, incredible experience in that I was able to pursue something I loved alongside the people I loved.

Don’t get me wrong, I am loving college and cannot wait to see where this experience brings me, but I will always feel nostalgic when I think back to all the memories of my time with the drama club. When I think back to high school, the majority of my memories circulate around the hours spent in rehearsal in the auditorium, the cast parties, all the bonding activities, and the officer meetings, which were held every Tuesday morning in the Green Room and always had munchkins.

Drama club gave me the confidence to speak in front of people and to make bold, creative choices. It gave me the confidence to be proud of the work I product and to feel comfortable improvising, both on-stage and in real life (mistakes happen everywhere).

I will never forget our superstitious traditions (like our modification of the gypsy robe ceremony) or our bonding activities (the highly-anticipated reveal of the girls’ bonding video during the musical). I couldn’t forget the bus rides on festival mornings, with coffee and script in-hand, or talking in the dressing rooms before a performance, or the cake-like foundation administered from make-up crew for stage wear. I will never forget the ghost in our auditorium (because what theater isn’t complete without a ghost?) or the names of drama kids who came before me etched on the walls of the left-side wing backstage.

I just wanted to address this letter to my high school drama club, to a group of amazing people who are bound to do amazing things, and I just wanted to say thank you for everything. No matter how long it’s been since I’ve graduated (not very long at the moment) or where life brings me, I will always feel at home within the drama club.