I had the recent
opportunity to attend Speak Your Truth: The Improv Way co-conducted by visiting applied
improvisation expert and lovely human being Belina Raffy and Creative Director of Silly People’s Improv
Theater (SPIT) and equally lovely human being Gabe Mercado. It was a wonderful,
nerve-wracking, ultimately empowering experience where it was affirmed that the
very best of stories come from our own truths, and we are able to reach others
in a deep and powerful way when we share these.
This entry is my
attempt to recreate, through writing, the story I told during our culminating
activity of the day, about how my life was touched by an amazing teacher named
Mrs. Deluccio. And although this cannot convey the raw emotion I experienced
during the live and unscripted telling of it (I think I was on the verge of tears at the
time!) nor the magical moment when you struggle for, then find the words to describe what is in your heart, I hope that the message comes across all the same:
Back in kindergarten, I was known as the girl without a
voice. I was shy, so painfully shy, that it was so difficult to participate in
class, talk to my classmates, or even raise my hand to ask permission to use
the restroom. The latter led to a few embarrassing disasters in the classroom
and my mother, who had to frequently pick me up with a fresh change of clothes,
would oftentimes ask in exasperation, “Why didn’t you just tell your teacher that
you needed to use the bathroom?” Time and again, this question would be
answered by silence.
My teacher at the time even called my parents in for a
conference to discuss my situation. She asked them what language I was
comfortable with, and if I knew enough English to understand what was going on
in class, to which my father answered, “Mrs. Lauterstein, English is the only
language she knows.”
My silence in school continued, much to the frustration of
my parents and teacher, and the wonderment of my classmates who called me “The
girl whose tongue was stolen by the cat.”
Then one day, I was a preschooler no more, but a worldly,
grown-up first grader. I walked slowly into my new classroom and saw a petite
woman with curly blond hair, sparkling eyes, and a warm and open smile. Mrs.
Deluccio, she had written on the board in big swirly letters.
“Hello there,” she said to me, “Come and sit here in front.”
I walked forward with shaking knees and sank into a seat right in front of her
on the first row.
“You look like a princess,” she told me. I smiled back
tremulously, feeling that all-too familiar lump in my throat. I couldn’t say
anything. I just couldn’t.
“Petunia. Can I call you Princess Petunia?” She asked. I
stared back at her. She smiled back widely, not noticing my silence. Or not seeming
to mind, at least. I nodded.
And so I sat on the first row for the rest of the semester. For
the first month or so, I still didn’t talk. This didn’t faze my teacher. She
still referred to me as her Princess Petunia, oftentimes meeting my eye during
class discussion to give me an encouraging nod or a playful little wink. I’m your ally, was what she seemed to
say. During seatwork, she would pass by
and take a look at my work, never lingering too long, but always saying, “Good
job, Princess Petunia,” or “You’re on the right track, Princess Petunia.” For
the first time in my life, I felt like there was someone else outside of my family who truly knew me and understood what I was going through. Someone who didn’t
judge me for my silence but accepted it, and cared for me all the same.
My silence eventually evolved to giggles over her jokes or
little whispered side comments to a seatmate during class (Princess Stephanie,
if I remember correctly). Then finally, on one fateful day, I raised my hand.
And I spoke. And it felt good. As I looked breathlessly at Mrs. Deluccio, she
smiled a smile with the warmth of a thousand rays of sunshine. And she said,
“Princess Petunia. I’ve been waiting for that.”
Since then, I grew up and eventually dedicated my life to
speaking up and sharing stories through my work with
Make Believe, through
theater, film, teaching, and writing. And although it will always and forever
be a nerve wracking experience for this shy little girl at heart, whenever I am
afraid or hesistant or unsure, I remember Mrs. Deluccio - and I, Princess
Petunia, speak up
J
 |
She also came to my birthday party that year.
From left: me, Mrs. Deluccio, and my good friend Jackie |
Thank you, Belina and
Gabe, for helping me remember and speak this truth J
