7 of 31: The Hootenanny

Today I stepped into the role of parent for 31 of my 8th grade students. I escorted them to our district's high school where seven would perform their original poetry in front of a packed audience of high schoolers, actual parents, and their fellow classmates.

The energetic chatter that filled the bus on the way over quickly subsided as we entered the hallowed high school halls. We were greeted by a cheery sophomore who escorted us to a makeshift theater erected in the library.

This is the third year I've taken students to this Hootenanny, which is a just one small part of a week-long literary festival that goes on at our high school. Professional authors, poets, artists, and performers are invited to give seminars and perform all week for high school students. High schoolers also perform their works, create logos, advertise, run the sound, and even baked my jittery students fresh cookies. And we are invited to participate through a voluntary poetry competition.

It never fails. As soon as we sit down and the M.C. takes the stage, I get a little clammy.

I constantly worry that one of the "big" kids will heckle one of my fragile poets.
Never happens - instead they snap and clap so supportively it's like they are wrapping my kids in a big high school hug - the school appropriate kind of course.

I worry someone might trip and fall face first walking up onto the plywood stage.
They're coordination conquered.

I worry that one young poet will lose his/her place and stumble over his/her words.
One student did. Her phone screen went blank and she paused to unlock her screen and continued reading without losing one bit of her composure...I would have been in a puddle on the floor at that age.

I worry that someone will be left out who should have been invited on stage.
Didn't happen.

And then I let that fret fall away as I really begin to listen to these young voices speaking loudly and clearly through the microphone. These voices that will not be silenced as the read their own words on the page (or screen). The spoke of the power of surviving cancer, divorce, bullying, puberty, and they spoke of fighting all the isms, pressures, prejudice and injustice they already see in their world. Their metaphors were moving and their performances were perfection.

By the end I was no longer sweating, I was crying because not only did the 7 poets who were prepared to perform get up and read their work, but 11 more 8th graders spontaneously volunteered when we had extra time and the M.C. asked if anyone else would like to share. They caught that beatnik bug and strode onstage and owned it.

I was that proud "parent" watching all my kids and it this is what will get me through to spring break!