Last night I travelled back in time 35 years.  It didn’t require a DeLorean, nor did I enter through the stockroom of a local bar and grill.  The trip to the past began when Sue, Rose and I stepped into the auditorium of Windham High School.  For any regular readers, WHS is not the same school where I teach and often mention in my blogs.  WHS is a local suburban public high school, and one of the larger high schools in the state.  We were there as guests of a former student of mine, Alex, who was juggling in his school’s talent show.

Alex, a Junior, had already won the talent show both his Freshman and Sophomore years.  This never surprised me as he is arguably the best juggler I’ve ever taught, and certainly has the best natural sense of stage presence and choreography.  But these are not the reasons he is one of my favorite students from throughout my career.  Alex possessed a couple very rare traits for a middle school boy: humility and sincerity.

But my trip through time didn’t just bring me back five years to when I first met Alex.  It brought me back 35 years to when I was a high school Junior performing in my suburban high school’s talent show.  I remember being much more noticeably nervous than Alex was last night, and illuminated juggling balls – of which Alex juggles five – didn’t exist back then; I used tennis balls.  I juggled in silence while his routine was perfectly choreographed to techno-pop music.  And yet the evenings were remarkably similar.

First there were the goofy teenage emcees, whose entire stage presence seemed to be built upon giggly awkwardness.  There were the good natured jocks doing a hysterical version of the classic skit in which one guy’s hands appeared to be the other guy’s feet, making him appear to be a midget.  There was the steady stream of pop songs by kids with varying degrees of ability.  There were the ballerinas dancing point who were greeted by anonymous wolf-whistles when they came on stage in their leotards and sheer skirts.  There truly is nothing new under the sun.

My high school talent show was my first performance as a juggler ever.  I was 16, and scared to death.  I remember the day before the show sneaking onto the auditorium stage at lunchtime in order to get acclimated to it.  I was pleasantly surprised to discover Lynn Phillips, our school’s dancer in residence, had the same idea.  We were alone together for an entire class period, and I even had the nerve to speak to her!  I believe I said, “Good luck tomorrow.”  I always was smooth with the ladies.  She responded, “Thanks.”  And she smiled!  Show biz was looking better and better.

The night of the show, however, I was all business.  I knew that if my nerves got the better of me and I chickened out, which was certainly a strong temptation, it would be all the harder to go on stage the next time there was an opportunity.   So, fighting my nerves, I brought my props on stage in my dad’s laundry basket, did my set, and received a standing ovation.  I came in second place.  Senior year, I reentered the talent show with my newfound juggling partner, John Nazarellah, and we won the $50 first prize.

As we waited for Alex to be called on stage, I was back there in Essex Junction, Vermont, fighting my stage fright, wishing I could have a coherent conversation with Lynn Phillips, and arguing with John Nazarellah over how much warming up was necessary before our set.  Then Alex was called, and I was transported back to 2013.  For a quiet kid who keeps a low profile, he received thunderous applause when his name was called.  He opened with three, then four and five illuminated balls.  Three was brilliant, but he began having trouble with four and five.  At one point a ball fell off of the stage, a frustration I experienced recently with my diabolo.  When he transitioned to diabolo, his string tangled, and he lost several seconds having to unwind it.  I’ve been there, too.  When he was through, it was clear he was disappointed with his routine.  (In fairness, he is recovering from a snowboarding injury to his wrist.)

I know Alex well enough to know that empty praise for what we both knew was a weak set would annoy him as much as it does me, I greeted him with, “That was rough.”  Anything less would have come across as  fake, and like I said, I’ve always respected his sincerity.  In the end, he didn’t place anywhere in the top three.  As we were leaving I asked him, “Which would you prefer, winning with an OK set, or doing a great performance and not placing?”  He chose the great set without winning a prize.  I knew he would.  Just like I know he will outdo himself in his Senior year’s talent show.