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This picture was taken on October 4th of last year, during pre-show rehearsal before the second performance of the production of You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown that I directed. It is, without a doubt, the best directing experience I have ever had. As I wrote in my 2003 wrap-up: The audience loved it. I loved my kids. They loved me. It was a big lovefest. It was a really fast rehearsal period - we auditioned in the middle of August, we started rehearsing right after Labor Day, and the show went up on October 3rd. There didn't seem to be much time for fun, but much fun was had. Every other time I've worked with teenagers (which is most of my directing experience) it's been with huge groups - fifty minimum; sometimes as many as eighty or more. At first I wasn't sure I could tailor my style to only working with six kids at a time Turns out, I took to it pretty well. I mean, look at them. Could they be cuter? I really don't think they could be. The one on the right (playing Schroeder) once played my son, Randolph, in a production of Bye, Bye Birdie. The one next to him (Linus) had leads in the productions of Annie Get Your Gun and Footloose that I co-directed. The one in the middle, obviously playing Charlie Brown, was my Beast before this show and my Ren after. Sally and Snoopy were both in the show choir. The only one new to me was Lucy. They were marvelous. Watching them every night was so much fun. Working with them was even better. My very favorite memory from this show centers around the song "Happiness." I shamelessly ripped off the Broadway revival and staged the song with them all wearing their pajamas. (I have a picture of that somewhere and I'll find it and post it another time.) I wanted something very simple and lovely and I wasn't getting quite what I had envisioned, so I sat them down on the edge of the stage in the middle of rehearsal. Think about something that makes you incredibly happy, I said. Something that brings you peace, that makes you feel better than anything else. They giggled a little and rolled their eyes a little but I'm pretty stubborn and they know how much they can push me. They knew I was serious, and after a minute or so, they settled down and one by one, they told me. In quiet voices, with a little embarrassment on some parts. They were shy about opening up in front of each other and in front of me, but they did. When everyone had shared, including me (my happy thing was the way my brother sounds when I make him laugh), we all got back up and they took their places in the blocking. I started the CD and they did the song again from the top. And I almost cried. Afterward I told them, If you do this song the right way on show nights, I'll cry. It became a cast thing. Every night after the show they'd ask me if they'd made me cry. Night after night it didn't happen - probably not because the song wasn't right, but because I had so many things to think about. Notes to take, cues to call. On the last night, though, when they came running up to me after, the answer was yes. Because when they'd all come together at the front of the stage, hands on shoulders or around waists, singing not to the audience but to each other with genuine affection - I cried. I cried because it was beautiful, and they were beautiful, and what we had made together - that was the most beautiful thing of all.
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