Thursday, December 6, 2012

High School Days

Last night I went to the open house for the local Arts Magnet High School with my oldest daughter Savannah.


High School….already.

It’s happening too fast.

But before I sink into a my baby’s growing up depression, I want to talk about how freaking cool this school is!

This is actually my alma mater. I graduated from there in 1988 and it was a cool school waaayyyy back then.  You know, in the old days.

May I name drop for a moment? I walked the halls with Erykah Badu, hung out between classes with jazz great Roy Hargrove, and did a few plays and parties with Elizabeth Mitchell who was in the TV series “Lost.”  Edie Brickell graduated the year before I arrived. Norah Jones came in a few years after me and her phenomenal success made the school close to impossible to get into.

Back in my day it was just a 2-story brick building with an addition in the back that included a state-of-the-art (for the 80’s) music department.

The school is on the same spot, but it’s now a 4-story modern, talent molding facility.

I seriously want to go back to high school. I’ll take on all the awkwardness and fear to be able to hang out here 5 days a week.

My favorite class, Playwriting, was tucked into a small, dark room in the back of the Auditorium. I filled several spirals for 4 years in that space. That class is now in a huge computer lab where each student has their own computer to type out the next Broadway play, or at least a 10-minute play to have produced in Showcase Theater on a cold Thursday night.

Honestly, I would go back for my teaching certificate if I was guaranteed a position at this specific school...but quite frankly I don't think I have enough talent and experience to teach these kids. They are exceptional.

And my girl is exceptional.  Make a note, Arts. 
(I'm showing my age.  I keep calling it "Arts" instead of "Booker T" as it's now known.)

Savannah was so excited. She kept looking all around her with this smile on her face. That smile I love so much.

Every once in a while she would look at me and whisper, “I really want to go here, Mom.”

Every time we turned a corner her smile would get brighter and I would think

Please let her go here.

Like mother, like daughter.


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