While walking along the Downtown mall with my father a few weeks ago, we ran into my pre-school teacher. He and his wife (also my teacher then) were actors who taught pre-school on the side. Or perhaps they were pre-school teachers who were actors on the side. I don’t know which side was which for them. I loved those two teachers. I don’t remember any of the other teachers I must have had there.
I think it was in their care that I fell in love with theatre. I remember some serious playing of Billy Goats Gruff and the creation of a Janus pin, which while not technically a theatrical symbol, I saw it that way.
Is it their fault then that I live in poverty? Can I blame them for the way my heart breaks every day or for the frustrations of not being able to make work the way I want to? Can I lay my dissatisfactions and hungers and despairs at their feet? I suppose I could. But if I give them that responsibility, I would also have to thank them for the transcendent moments, for the burst of inspiration, for the aspirations and the insights. I could blame you. . . .