Levels of trust

My students sat on a set of risers waiting for me to begin. It was shortly after Spring Break. They were a very eager, creative and often high-spirited group of Grade 9s.

This was my first year teaching drama.

When Mike Wilkins made an announcement that he was offering the drama teacher's position to the junior high staff, I jumped at the opportunity.

This was one of the great things about teaching in a small town. There’s not always a line up of specialists knocking at the door.

He gave me the job based on my music experience. I think there’s a connection there somewhere.

I spent the summer poring over the old drama 8, 9 and 10 curriculum guides. Excellent resources! And I read any book on teaching drama I could get my hands on.

By the end of August that year, I was completely driven.

Now, it was April, and I’d been on one of the most incredible journeys of my career.

We had begun with simple trust exercises in pairs and small groups, then used this experience to create small improvs. The idea was if you felt comfortable and trusted those around you, you could relax and let your creative juices flow.

And then once you’re at that level, you would be free to explore and perfect acting and improvising techniques. It’s a great formula.

“I’ve booked the gym for today,” I said.

“Cool,” said Charles Carpenter. “Are we going to play basketball?” A few chuckles from the class.

“No, we’re going to see just how much trust we’ve developed in this class.”

We filed out of the drama room and into the gym. I got them into a large circle (brought back my kindergarten memories) and had them sit.

I asked for a volunteer. Michelle Gillespie put her hand up immediately. She was one of those kids who just made everything work.

She was quite tall and skinny and had a mouth full of braces that never hindered her huge, eternal smile.

“OK, Michelle. Put this on.”

Michelle put on the blind-fold that I handed her. I spun her around a few times for effect. I stopped her and addressed the class.

“OK. Is everyone listening? We are going to do something dangerous.”

It’s miraculous how a statement like that can get the attention of teenagers. Their eyes were riveted on me.

“First, we all have to be silent. When Michelle approaches you, you must gently turn her back toward the middle of the circle. Don’t let her hit the wall.”

At first, I walked beside Michelle, and then I backed off and watched my class treat Michelle with the same care and attention you’d give to a little puppy. It was remarkable.

Immediately after Michelle’s turn, I had about 15 volunteers. Everyone wanted to try.

Now, we did this routine in the drama class, outside, and in the gym over the following few weeks. I believe there was a correlation between their success in this activity and their ability to perform ‘improvs’ in front of their peers.

Their routines were so intelligent, funny, and dramatic that it was a let down when the class was over.

We were ready to progress, so I sat them down in the gym again.

“You guys are truly amazing. Who would like to go to the next level?”

They all knew about “going to the next level” because Nintendo and Super Mario were a large part of their lives.

A sea of hands waved in front of me. “OK, Andrew. You’re on.” Andrew Scribner was one of the largest boys in the class. I gave him the blindfold and turned to the students.

“Andrew is going to run as fast as he can toward that wall and you are going to stop him.”

Andrew tore off the blind-fold.

“What?”

“Do you trust them to stop you?”

Silence.

“Will you stop him?” I asked the class.

“No way!” joked Charles.

“We will so!” retorted most everyone else. There was no laughter.

I looked at Andrew. “Well?”

“Why don’t you do it, Mr. Knight?” he asked.

The class chimed in with, “Yah! You should do it, Mr. Knight!” I stood there a little dumbfounded.

I had always made a practice of participating in all of my drama activities, but for some reason, I hadn’t anticipated actually doing this myself. Andrew and the class were right.

“OK. Give me the blindfold,” I said.

To be continued.

This article is written by or on behalf of an outsourced columnist and does not necessarily reflect the views of Castanet.