Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

     Right before a show I am in a state of total focus and fear, I have dubbed a term for this as "being in the jazz".  Several weeks of planning and practice have gone into the creating of a production.  It all begins with hopeful hearts wanting a part at auditions and not understanding why they all don't make it.  I see tears of joy and tears of sorrow.  I hide in the distance and watch the faces and the reactions and learn about the character of the person by how they react.  Some wander off quickly with a hollow expression, others congratulate others.  There are ones who make it bounce and are joyous, they, unlike their adult counterparts have not yet learned to control or hide their emotions.  The unrestrained joy is a blessing after seeing the sorrow of the un-cast.  It is a lesson that they need to learn.  I regret being the one to teach them that lesson.The school wants to give each child the same opportunity at times, they want them all to have parts in the show. Usually there is a large number of children who audition, sometimes near 100.  If all the kids are special and get a part, then no one is special or more talented.  The competition is there and makes us strive to be better than we are, to raise our personal standards.  If there is no obtainable goal to reach then why reach.  The challenge makes us stronger.  

I stay in the shadows of backstage and watch them grow and then leave the stage.  An empty spotlight in the memory of an illusionary art.  I give them dreams, goals, and confidence to face life. I draw the curtain closed for another year and push them into the limelight of their own beginnings.  The stage goes dark, the applause dwindles, the chairs are emptied.  The shows go on.  I stand backstage and give the last cue and throw a switch to say goodbye, hello.

~Curtain~

Home from the movie...barely. Car overheated on a dark route. Made it to Northside in Clinton by 11:15. Nearest service station closes at 11:00. Had the hood up after pulling into a church parking lot. Five minutes of assessing and getting ready to walk when a vehicle pulls in with lights shining on me. Out jumps somebodies mother or grandmother. You okay, do you need something? I told her that my car overheated. She said she lived in a subdivision right across the street and would bring my car some water. 

She drove off and disappeared into a wooded area. Another vehicle pulls up and a big guy rolls down his window and asks to help me. (It is here I will point out he was an African American because of recent events I want to stress there are great people helping strangers of any race.) I tell him the situation and we decide that the water is all I will need. As he drives off, the first car drives back up and my rescuer has brought a green flower water jug.

I pour it all in and my radiator absorbs it. Not enough. We walk around the church and look for a faucet. This woman doesnt know me and is walking in the shadows of a building with a stranger to help him/me. We cant find a faucet so she volunteers to go get more and off she goes. The air is humid again and she takes no time in getting back with not only the green flower waterer, but a huge cooler. We fill the radiator and she offers to follow me home. She refuses to take money or the green flower waterer back. God blesses me continuously. When driving past the wooded area where she had disappeared I realized it was the Gore residence. Mr Gore is known for his statues and his art, but now I know Mrs. Gore for her courage and heart.