Find your Grail
Preamble.
The last five years have been pretty crappy, for most of us. On a personal level, I had to leave my Littleton job, fleeing to Aurora right before Covid. Then Covid shut everything down, but I was able to keep the theatre -the one I'd been hired to rebuild and reinvigorate after the death of the teacher--at least alive online. Then there was the Tik Tok Trash Your School Bathroom, and then the shooting.
I should have left teaching after Littleton.
I should have left teaching during Covid.
I should have left teaching after the shooting.
But I'm pretty dense and instead I stayed and the kids wrote a play about the shooting. Mayor Mike Coffman attended. The Counselors celebrated. Parents sobbed and thanked me. The new principal did not celebrate, in fact she was pissed. And...there I was again in a toxic environment with a target on my back. I would love to explain why my kids speaking truth to power upset this woman so much, but I simply cannot.
I "should have left" many times. I tried...but the fact remains that I was north of 50 years old and nobody wanted me. I even applied for language arts jobs. If I got an interview, it was over as soon as they saw my greying hair. So I stayed. I couldn't afford to retire at only 50% of my salary in this economy. I stayed and hated every second, forced to defend myself and my department constantly.
After a summer doing pony school and making some pretty intense discoveries about why my mental health was shot and why I, kryssi, was burned out, I made the decision that the 2024-2025 school year would be my last year teaching. One way or another, at the very least, I'd be out of Hinkley. Even if that meant I was shot---I'd be out. I intended to retire in May of 2025, money be damned. I couldn't continue under the toxic, bullying circumstances.
I wish this was a lighter preamble, but things were very dark.
Joseph Campbell
At some point in all of our educations, we've encountered our friend Joe and his Hero's Journey. I've taught it---very lightly, nothing in depth. I taught a ninth grade "combined" class with Gen Ed and Sped kids in it, so it was co-taught. We used Star Wars. Old Joe tells us everything is connected, and always has been. All religion, philosophy, human existence and our hero's journeys. All Connected. He also insists we all have a "bliss" we must find, which I've argued is mostly hooey. Finding your bliss is for entitled people with the income and support to explore everything they find interesting. The rest of us are just surviving.
Andrew
My friend from high school, Andrew Alexander, died on Wednesday. I had not seen him since the Lakewood Pow Pow in 2000. We'd just moved back up to Green mountain with the kids, and Andrew was living in the mountains somewhere "doing doors". I asked for an explanation, and he waved his arms and said "It's complicated, I make doors." Which wasn't complicated, but OK. As long as he's happy.
Andrew was my bridesman in our wedding. We were in choir and theatre together, even though he was a year ahead. He went to CU as a Psych major---in 1983/84 I had A Lot of friends going to college as Psych majors--and I went up a few times to visit. In the late 1990's, after I'd returned from Houston, we reconnected. He was living with his friend Joe and we had dinners at their place/our place. Then he had a girlfriend for a while, who we also had over for dinner in our tiny house on Lincoln St.
But the event I will dissect here is when I dressed him up as Frank N Furter at the 1982 Concert Choir Halloween Dance at Green Mountain High School.
Connecting
This summer, I again worked at the pony school. Only this time, instead of subbing, I worked six weeks as the pony wrangler. I had kids between six and nine who were too old for preschool camp, who signed up to instead be "Mustangs" and wrangle the ponies.
And again it had a profound effect on me.
Since last year's pony gig, I have in fact left Hinkley. I believe working at the camp helped me clear my head and make a solid choice, even though the choice I made was to return to Hinkley in August. What I mean is something shifted in the universe when I said "I am leaving" that freed up opportunities for which I did not apply.
You heard me. They called me. Specifically a former Hink AP texted me one morning while I was sitting in the parking lot working up the energy to enter the building.
I went back to Hink planning to do the entire year, then quit teaching in May. I had no plans beyond getting out of teaching theatre. In September I was contacted, and everything changed...ish... I am still teaching theatre, but at Kennedy in DPS. This time I was hired to do a true rebuild of a department that has been dark for three years. In fact, they haven't had a musical in even longer---since 2018. The pressure is on, but the admin is a different animal than I've ever encountered: supportive, everything is about the kids first and the community second. All in all, to sum up, in conclusion-these people really like me and believe I'm capable of rebuilding. I feel like Dorothy.
So the epiphanies in pony school this year were different. Instead of "I hate theatre and teaching theatre and am done and bitter", I had questions: "What am I supposed to do now?" This was triggered by Trump's bullying, as some of my colleagues' spouses are federal employees, in addition to his posturing to defund us and put us all out of jobs--because AI isn't getting that accomplished nearly quickly enough. I had no idea why I'd be placed in this job to have the building close...but again, above my pay grade.
Toward the end of summer, I started hearing "Find Your Grail" from Spamalot in the morning. I heard it in my head, to be clear, Tim Curry and Leslie Rodriguez were not singing to me in my own bedroom, or serenading me from the shower. It was in my head, a musical earworm. I had not listened to the sound track in a while, although Jim was playing it in June while painting the spare room. Usually I get morning music earworms if I'm directing a show. I haven't directed a musical in one hundred years, so that was not why the song was stuck.
It was stuck. It was not one morning. It was a week of mornings. Every morning I woke up with it in my head, and I would sing it on the way to pony school, and then hum during pony school. I don't hum unless I'm stressed, and then my song of choice is "The Phantom of the Opera".
I started to wonder what was up. I listened to the entire soundtrack, enjoying a memory of myself and Jim Farrell dueting "The Song That Goes Like This", and figured I was pining for the Good Old Days, when I had a true team and loved my job.
Then I heard that Andrew died. And I remembered dressing him up as Frank. I remembered bleaching his rat tail in his bathroom. I remembered his relentless tanning competition with a classmate one summer and how very dark brown he became. I never competed with these guys, as my pasty whiteness is almost transparent and burns the nanosecond I step outside.
I remembered the details of building his costume, which I realized was the first time I had done so.
Andrew was tall, and regardless of his age he was still male, so I couldn't just buy a corset at JC Penny. I had to buy an extra large one at Goodwill and dye it black in my mom's washing machine with RIT dye. I had to go to A Craft Store---a place I did not frequent---and buy strips of sequins that I then stitched onto the corset. I had to also purchase a white garter from Goodwill to be RIT'd, fishnet stockings from Fashion Bar and ladies silky underpants. We couldn't find any heels at the Goodwills in his size, so we had to acquiesce to his clogs, much to our disappointment. The wig we found was not great, so we decided to tease his hair and we did his makeup.
He looked great.
I was so proud, I built a costume (ish) and people responded---mostly girls. He was kind of a hit at the dance. Mostly with girls.
As I ruminated on how this made me feel...the connections sparked.
Andrew dressed as Frank N Furter, played by Tim Curry who sang "Find Your Grail" in Spamalot..."Find Your Grail" is equal to Campbell's "Find Your Bliss".
I like building. I don't like the spotlight, but I get grumpy when I am not acknowledged. Every show I hide saying "It's about the kids". I joke about stitching and sobbing downstairs at Littleton, but those were my happiest times. I love figuring out how to make something work without the proper budget or materials. I never had that opportunity at Hinkley, most of the costumes were pulls and borrows, but I still gave up planning time to put together the costume plots. I'm a shitty costumer, I am well aware that I am not an artist. But I enjoy it. I like building. I can always depend on a student with more ability than myself to see what I intended and make it beautiful.
Wow, that ended quickly.
So my summer of "What am I supposed to do now?" ended with "You're doing it." It doesn't matter what the future of the building, the district or public education is-that's above my pay grade. I don't direct for trophies, so that pressure is nonexistent. I already ran a powerhouse high school theatre---Big Deal, there was a lot of toxic nastiness that went with that. I brought Hink back only to be disrespected and walked away from yet another toxic building... on my own terms. They didn't run me off, I left. Voluntarily. For my own mental health. When you work in an abusive building it's still an abusive relationship and nobody deserves that.
All I can do is what I can do, and it turns out...I enjoy doing what I do. I just needed to be someplace where I was not under attack for doing it.
Which I suppose is my bliss...I've found my grail...?
Sure. Let's go with that.
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