Tomorrow, I begin teaching a stage combat class for a bunch of strangers. Young strangers who will be semi-conscripted by their parents into something about which they have only vague notions. They will have been told about my credentials, perhaps, or to expect a fun summertime distraction which might give them some skills or inspiration useful in upcoming theatrical productions. While this is only a small step for me toward my greater goals, the responsibility is large.

When under the protective foundation of the high school program, I have a (possibly false) sense of security. This private lesson gig will be working without a net. All the burden is on me to succeed. If a student does not learn, I do not have the option of shaking it of and waiting for the next crop or just excising them from the troupe altogether. Those options are never great choices for me, but again… security.

Six kids of similar background, but different personalities brought together under my tutelage to become skilled combatants and receptive partners for performance. One teacher on the verge of breaking into the professional business of show. Ten weeks of sun and swords. Sounds like a reality show, I guess; Maybe I should film it.

The concept probably pales in comparison to challenges faced by New York theater professionals or Los Angeles filmmakers. Their problems seem immense. But are they? Really, dealing with people is always the same. You have people pulling your strings and people whose strings you pull and sometimes the roles reverse. But it’s all just working with people.

The only difference is in the malleability of these young minds. It is a privelege to be trusted by strangers to teach their children, and one which I do not take lightly. These young people will some day be fully formed adults. What they learn from me will shape that adult in some way, possibly a critical way.

I am reminded of something Keith Johnstone wrote in his book, Impro. Forgive my paraphrasing, as Mr. Johnstone was likely more eloquent: People talk about good teaching and bad teaching as though they were empirical measurements of the same process. But really, a good teacher and a bad teacher are engaging in wholly opposite activities. The former seeks to open the mind of a student and give them the knowledge and confidence they need to create new knowledge and focus their own perception. The latter forces the student’s mind to conform, battering down creativity in favor of fact.

That has always stuck with me. Come to think of it, that book no doubt influenced me, so many years ago, to pursue my own aspirations in performance. My path continues to be so clear in hindsight. Despite my feeling of ambition and pursuit at this point, it’s hard to tell if I’m blazing the trail or simply discovering it. Lack of ambition brought me into the fencing program, the fencing program fed my ambition. Ain’t life funny?

And now, as I am on the brink of setting myself up as a private instructor, one of my strongest students has accepted my invitation to assist. I am very proud of the man he has become, and I can only hope I had some part in that growth. He has returned to our alma mater a principled and talented teacher, and I know that his guidance will lead many young people to triumphant success.

That pride is what has brought me back to the program, and what has slowly removed me from the performance itself. Yes, I want to produce the best show possible, and a show might benefit from my performance in it. Yes, the skills I can teach will grant coordination and awareness and could help someone get work in theater. But what is most important — what is essential — is the nurturing of the burgeoning spirits that join the program.

My energy may not be what it once was, my patience less so. And I may never have the ability to create a cohesive plan in words and schedules. But when my mentors and my friends have commented that I have a natural ability to teach, I think what they see is this integrity and belief to which I cleave. Teaching is immortality. What lives on in those we teach, our legacy.