Scope & Sequence: Reflection 1

AUGUST 2022

How valuable is my voice? What could I possibly contribute to an art form nearly as old as civilization itself? I have never been one to tout my own accomplishments, toot my own horn, per se, so the prospect of creating an ideal acting program seemed daunting as I completed the first exhilarating and grueling summer towards my master’s in theatre education. Spending weeks immersed in acting exercises, vocal technique, fingertips sticky with glue for a set design, imagination bubbling during dramaturgy research, all the while surrounded by an awesome cohort of like-minded educators.

We come from varying backgrounds and circumstances, although many in the cohort are based in Texas so much of the discussions and questions regarding UIL and other aspects of theatre education unique to the Lone Star State did not usually immediately apply to my circumstances back in the Show-Me State, so my mind admittedly wandered a bit; after all, I was not in Houston to just play around or relax on a summer vacation. I came to do a job. I came to improve my theatre program, to cultivate my students’ skills in theatre, and to better myself as an educator.

However, my teaching situation is unique amongst the cohort, so during discussion in and out of classes, I would occasionally share details or “war stories” with fellow educators, but I found myself mostly listening or keeping to myself. If I had questions for our professors, I waited until I could ask one-on-one. I did not want to take up valuable class time with questions specific to my program that would not necessarily benefit our cohort as a whole. After all, as far as I could tell, my fellow graduate students did not teach at a public charter school with a majority of Black students. But I wrote down as much as I could, although I greatly appreciated when professors made their materials available digitally or through a handout so I could be more present in the moment instead of frantically scribbling or typing notes that may or may not make sense when I revisited them later on. My primary nagging worry upon completion of this first summer semester was my ability to adapt the lessons from my classes as a student to my classes as a teacher.

After a whirlwind final week in the Windy City which felt like a victory lap compared to the previous weeks, I drove the 900 miles back to the Show-Me State, to the Gateway City: home. Armed with my binder packed with documents and materials, an inbox of supplemental lessons from the professors, and the assignments that would comprise this portfolio,  I set my sights on the upcoming school year. The 2022-23 school year would be the first in two academic years that we would thankfully not be required to teach any online or hybrid classes. What a relief! My cohort could certainly empathize with how difficult, how challenging and almost impossible teaching our acting classes via Google Meet or Zoom. I will not even go into detail how frustrating the experience of teaching shop and other technical theatre classes remotely was.

So great, we’re getting students back in person, vaccines and boosters were abundantly available, and we had all become accustomed to masking, distancing when needed, sanitizing hands regularly, and so on. In what condition would students be, however,  when they returned to us? After all, participation in remote and hybrid learning at my school had been low to none. The majority of my students were just names on a roster. I could not put names to faces if they were new, and many did not show up in the virtual meeting room at all, nor were many of them completing assignments. Each period, I taught for maybe 15-20 minutes, giving instruction for the lesson for the week, attempting to make breakout rooms for group work, but those fell flat as I heard excuse after excuse: declining or refusing to turn on cameras, off-task chatting, or worse, just dead silence while I talk to my own reflection and perform a one-man show for an audience of one.

Adding to this demoralizing situation at the beginning of this school year is a theatre department in transition that I am expected to lead and avoid any potential turmoil. One teacher in my department – the one who actually recommended I apply for this job in the first place – had a series of serious personal issues that impacted his teaching performance, leading to his abrupt departure in February 2022. For most of the spring semester of last school year, it was me and a colleague who has a much different style of teaching, to state it politely, and who says that each new school year is his last, but has yet to follow through with that promise, to the point that it is a running joke amongst the faculty. We have a tacitly tolerant working relationship, but I am not rushing out to grab a drink with him after work any time soon. 

All of this to say I quickly find myself back in the trenches upon my return to school, knowing that I have this portfolio to assemble, but that seems so far away in January. Looking at my theatre program as it stands, I see many flaws, or rather plenty of potential for improvement. I see how great a program like this can be: an arts academy that allows students to choose a “pathway” similar to a university major – music, visual art, dance, and theatre. This format appeals to me; I like the concept of a conservatory model at the secondary level that could prepare students for pursuing higher education degrees as well as professional careers as theatre professionals, not just actors. My philosophy is that the best professional actors appreciate and respect the rest of the village that diligently works as a (hopefully) cohesive ensemble to produce a play. Of course, the assignment is to create a scope and sequence for a utopian acting program, but I believe that even when acting is the focus, no decent acting program should exclude at least some exposure to technical and musical theatre. 

Wouldn’t it be great if there are acting students who are actually passionate and enthusiastic about the craft and following basic directions and expectations? Wouldn’t it be incredible to send students to undergraduate acting programs prepared with a foundation in healthy vocal and physical habits, who understand where theatre traditions come from, who have been introduced to many of the tried-and-true methods and techniques from Stanislavski to Suzuki? That’s what I want students to master during three years of classes, plus a culminating capstone in their senior year that will incorporate the work from the previous three years. Along the way, there will be a few electives to choose from and expand the breadth of their skill set.

But how would I structure it? Ideally, each year should build on the other; if you don’t have a strong foundation, the whole building collapses. Then it hit me as I approached my exit on I-55 towards home: the Gateway Arch, a legacy of my family (my grandfather was one of the iron workers who built it and I was a tour guide there for 3 years after undergrad), and with my capstone idea, it perfectly paralleled the keystone that sits at the top of the Arch. That’s my program title: Gateway to Acting. I am looking forward to the end of this school year to see how this idea evolves from here.