By Tanya Janke
Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.
~Dave Barry
My mother says I was born a performer. She still has recordings of me at three years old, singing songs and reciting poetry. I loved an audience, loved plays and recitals, and loved applause more than anything.
Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.
~Dave Barry
My mother says I was born a performer. She still has recordings of me at three years old, singing songs and reciting poetry. I loved an audience, loved plays and recitals, and loved applause more than anything.
When I found out there was a school for the arts in my city, I begged my parents to let me audition. Their musical theatre program started in Grade 4. I was in Grade 3, so the timing was perfect. If I got accepted, I could start the next year.
My parents gathered information about the audition process and we looked at it together. It sounded easy. Kids my age only had to learn a dance routine, tell a joke or funny story, and sing the national anthem. For the high school program, the audition was much harder — memorizing a monologue, preparing a song, drama and dance exercises, improvisation. I was glad I didn't have to do all that!
"What joke are you going to tell?" my parents asked me.
I didn't know a lot of jokes. My father knew about a thousand, and gave me all sorts of ideas, but nothing seemed quite right.
"I know," I said to my parents. "I'll tell that story about the ketchup."
They asked what I was talking about.
"When I was little," I said, "I watched a scary movie with Aunt Carole. She said, 'Don't worry, nobody really got hurt. They just put ketchup on the actors to make it look like blood.' After that, I said I wanted to be an actor because I loved ketchup. When the scene was over, I would lick it all up!"
My parents exchanged glances in that way parents do when they seem to be reading each other's minds. They smiled, but they didn't laugh.
"Maybe you could tell a knock-knock joke," my father suggested. He had lots to choose from, but I was sure my story was funnier.
When my audition came around, my father took the day off work to drive me. The School for the Arts was all the way at the north end of the city and we lived at the south end, so it was a long drive. My belly was full of butterflies the whole way there, but my father kept telling jokes. He obviously wanted me to use one of his instead of telling my ketchup story, but my mind was made up.
The first part of the audition was dance. A lot of kids put on ballet slippers or fancy outfits, but I'd never taken dance lessons and I knew I wasn't very coordinated. When we started learning the routine, I couldn't keep up with everyone else. I couldn't remember the moves, but I knew I had a great singing voice. So what if I wasn't good at dancing? When I got on stage, the teachers would see how talented I was.
If I thought I was nervous in the car, that was nothing compared to sitting in the auditorium waiting for my turn to come around. There were lots of other kids auditioning. Some of their jokes were terrible, and I felt strangely glad when their performances fell flat. If other kids did poorly, wouldn't that make me look better?
But some students were hilarious. When they told their jokes everybody laughed, even the teachers. I was so jealous of those kids. They would get in for sure.
When the teachers called my name, my whole body turned to ice. I stood up, rolled my shoulders, and walked on stage feeling anxious all the way.
A teacher with curly brown hair and a pretty smile asked me to begin whenever I was ready, and I started right away with my story about Aunt Carole and acting and ketchup.
I got to the punch line about licking it all up... and nobody laughed.
Nobody laughed!
The teacher with the curly brown hair smiled, but she didn't laugh. The other kids looked bored. Farther back in the auditorium there were parents waiting. My father stood in the doorway. That was the first time I noticed him. He was smiling, but I could feel the pity in his eyes. He'd tried to tell me the story wasn't funny, but it took standing up in front of a big group of strangers for me to realize he was right.
"I'm sorry," I said to the teachers. I'd never felt so humiliated, and I just kept apologizing. "That was terrible. I can do much better, really I can."
The teacher with the curly hair and kind smile nodded before asking me to begin the vocal portion of the audition.
I'd sung "O Canada" every morning since kindergarten, but I'd never struggled like I did that day. My throat stung with tears. I meant to split the song half and half, singing in both official languages, but I was so torn up it all came out French.
When I'd finished the national anthem I apologized again and again, until one of the teachers said, "Never apologize at an audition."
That made me feel even worse, and I walked offstage and went straight to my dad. He didn't say anything. Neither did I. I'd failed at something I really wanted, and I felt awful.
We got a letter from the school that began, "We regret to inform you..."
I didn't get in. I vowed never to audition for anything ever again.
After that, I tried not to think about music and drama. I took part in school plays when there were no auditions, but by the end of Grade 8 my teachers were encouraging me to try out for the arts school again.
I didn't feel so embarrassed anymore about the joke nobody laughed at, so I went to the high school audition. I still wasn't great at dance, but I did better than before, and my monologue and drama exercises went really well.
By the time we got to music, I thought I'd be accepted for sure. The teacher who'd told me five years before never to apologize at an audition even accompanied me on piano. I felt great... until halfway through my song I forgot all the words! My mind went blank, but I didn't apologize. I just awaited instructions.
The teacher asked me to sing "O Canada" instead, and I did, French and English.
I left my audition sure I'd be rejected. After all, I'd forgotten the words to my song. Why would they want me?
A few weeks later, I got a letter from the school. It was an acceptance! My very first year, I auditioned for the school musical. This time I didn't tell an unfunny joke, I didn't forget the words to my song, and guess what? I got the lead role!
I still remember feeling queasy and embarrassed when I told a story I thought was funny and nobody laughed. I never wanted to feel that way again. But if I hadn't taken chances, I'd never have starred in two high school plays, or gone on to work in a theatre and even write my own musical. Bad feelings fade over time. The good ones shine much brighter.
My parents gathered information about the audition process and we looked at it together. It sounded easy. Kids my age only had to learn a dance routine, tell a joke or funny story, and sing the national anthem. For the high school program, the audition was much harder — memorizing a monologue, preparing a song, drama and dance exercises, improvisation. I was glad I didn't have to do all that!
"What joke are you going to tell?" my parents asked me.
I didn't know a lot of jokes. My father knew about a thousand, and gave me all sorts of ideas, but nothing seemed quite right.
"I know," I said to my parents. "I'll tell that story about the ketchup."
They asked what I was talking about.
"When I was little," I said, "I watched a scary movie with Aunt Carole. She said, 'Don't worry, nobody really got hurt. They just put ketchup on the actors to make it look like blood.' After that, I said I wanted to be an actor because I loved ketchup. When the scene was over, I would lick it all up!"
My parents exchanged glances in that way parents do when they seem to be reading each other's minds. They smiled, but they didn't laugh.
"Maybe you could tell a knock-knock joke," my father suggested. He had lots to choose from, but I was sure my story was funnier.
When my audition came around, my father took the day off work to drive me. The School for the Arts was all the way at the north end of the city and we lived at the south end, so it was a long drive. My belly was full of butterflies the whole way there, but my father kept telling jokes. He obviously wanted me to use one of his instead of telling my ketchup story, but my mind was made up.
The first part of the audition was dance. A lot of kids put on ballet slippers or fancy outfits, but I'd never taken dance lessons and I knew I wasn't very coordinated. When we started learning the routine, I couldn't keep up with everyone else. I couldn't remember the moves, but I knew I had a great singing voice. So what if I wasn't good at dancing? When I got on stage, the teachers would see how talented I was.
If I thought I was nervous in the car, that was nothing compared to sitting in the auditorium waiting for my turn to come around. There were lots of other kids auditioning. Some of their jokes were terrible, and I felt strangely glad when their performances fell flat. If other kids did poorly, wouldn't that make me look better?
But some students were hilarious. When they told their jokes everybody laughed, even the teachers. I was so jealous of those kids. They would get in for sure.
When the teachers called my name, my whole body turned to ice. I stood up, rolled my shoulders, and walked on stage feeling anxious all the way.
A teacher with curly brown hair and a pretty smile asked me to begin whenever I was ready, and I started right away with my story about Aunt Carole and acting and ketchup.
I got to the punch line about licking it all up... and nobody laughed.
Nobody laughed!
The teacher with the curly brown hair smiled, but she didn't laugh. The other kids looked bored. Farther back in the auditorium there were parents waiting. My father stood in the doorway. That was the first time I noticed him. He was smiling, but I could feel the pity in his eyes. He'd tried to tell me the story wasn't funny, but it took standing up in front of a big group of strangers for me to realize he was right.
"I'm sorry," I said to the teachers. I'd never felt so humiliated, and I just kept apologizing. "That was terrible. I can do much better, really I can."
The teacher with the curly hair and kind smile nodded before asking me to begin the vocal portion of the audition.
I'd sung "O Canada" every morning since kindergarten, but I'd never struggled like I did that day. My throat stung with tears. I meant to split the song half and half, singing in both official languages, but I was so torn up it all came out French.
When I'd finished the national anthem I apologized again and again, until one of the teachers said, "Never apologize at an audition."
That made me feel even worse, and I walked offstage and went straight to my dad. He didn't say anything. Neither did I. I'd failed at something I really wanted, and I felt awful.
We got a letter from the school that began, "We regret to inform you..."
I didn't get in. I vowed never to audition for anything ever again.
After that, I tried not to think about music and drama. I took part in school plays when there were no auditions, but by the end of Grade 8 my teachers were encouraging me to try out for the arts school again.
I didn't feel so embarrassed anymore about the joke nobody laughed at, so I went to the high school audition. I still wasn't great at dance, but I did better than before, and my monologue and drama exercises went really well.
By the time we got to music, I thought I'd be accepted for sure. The teacher who'd told me five years before never to apologize at an audition even accompanied me on piano. I felt great... until halfway through my song I forgot all the words! My mind went blank, but I didn't apologize. I just awaited instructions.
The teacher asked me to sing "O Canada" instead, and I did, French and English.
I left my audition sure I'd be rejected. After all, I'd forgotten the words to my song. Why would they want me?
A few weeks later, I got a letter from the school. It was an acceptance! My very first year, I auditioned for the school musical. This time I didn't tell an unfunny joke, I didn't forget the words to my song, and guess what? I got the lead role!
I still remember feeling queasy and embarrassed when I told a story I thought was funny and nobody laughed. I never wanted to feel that way again. But if I hadn't taken chances, I'd never have starred in two high school plays, or gone on to work in a theatre and even write my own musical. Bad feelings fade over time. The good ones shine much brighter.
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