10 Things I've Learned from the Youth Theater Program

 I recently had the privilege of being the lunch speaker at a local Kiwanis Club meeting. When I was invited, the dear friend - educator, Kiwanian, and frequent collaborator - who invited me suggested I talk about Hamilton Players’ youth program. Now, I could spend HOURS talking about the theater and its various programs, so narrowing the topic to youth theater was helpful...but still waaayyy too broad.

As I thought about all the things I could share, I realized I kept coming back to a handful of stories that delivered the same message: Those kids were teaching me more than I could ever teach them. So, I decided to distill those lessons into an easy-to-digest list of ten things I’ve learned from the Hamilton Players’ Youth Program. And then I thought, why not share them with you, too?

10 Things I’ve Learned from the Hamilton Players’ Youth Theater Program

1. Bravery doesn’t mean not being scared.

I’ve noticed that as people get older, we often become more cautious about taking risks. I don’t mean the bungee-jumping/hip-breaking kind. I mean the make-new-friends, try-a-new-restaurant, visit-a-new-place kind. Comfort zones can get awfully comfortable. But kids remind me that courage isn’t the absence of fear. Courage is being terrified to audition, sing alone, try improv, or walk onto a stage…and doing it anyway. On the other side of that fear, they discover new friends, forge new paths, and make incredible memories simply because they chose action over fear.

2. Failure is much less important than adults think it is.

Adults can give failure far more weight than it deserves. We replay our mistakes, analyze them, agonize over them, and sometimes let the possibility of failing keep us from trying at all. Kids forget a line, miss an entrance, mess up choreography...and keep going. Five minutes later, they’re laughing. They remind me that mistakes are part of learning, not evidence that we shouldn’t have tried. Failure should be a stepping-stone or a detour not a roadblock.

3. Belonging can happen remarkably fast.

Making new friends as an adult can feel daunting. It takes time, vulnerability, and effort, and we can get remarkably good at talking ourselves out of it. Kids often skip right past all that self-restriction. Put a group of kids together who may not know one another on Monday, give them something to create together, and by Friday they have inside jokes, shared experiences, and a community. A year later, they may walk back through the theater doors and greet one another with hugs as if no time has passed. Kids remind me that sometimes friendship gets harder because we’ve learned to make it harder. We create rules and definitions instead of simply meeting people where they are.

4. Every kid needs a place where their particular kind of “weird” is useful.

As adults, we tend to compartmentalize our “weird” and only bring it out when we feel safe and seen. But theater thrives on weird. Theater has a place for the loud kid, the quiet observer, the kid who memorizes everything, the class clown, the artist, the musician, the organizer, and the kid with the wildly specific obsession who has been waiting their entire life for someone to ask what they know about medieval weaponry, yoyo-ing, or obscure Disney villains. There are a lot of ways to be valuable. Theater has a wonderful way of seeing and acknowledging them.

5. Kids are capable of much more than we sometimes expect of them.

This is a big one, and it never fails to amaze me. The fact that a group of 40 kids can learn the blocking, dialogue, music, and choreography for a 75-minute show in a ONE-WEEK CAMP absolutely blows my mind. I once gave a TEDx talk that I wrote myself and still had trouble memorizing it! But give kids real responsibility, clear expectations, good instruction, and somebody who genuinely believes they can do it, and they will often meet, and exceed, those expectations. In 16 years of teaching summer theater camps, I have yet to see a group fail to rise to the occasion.

6. Confidence is built through doing, not through being told to be confident.

Adults can get pretty bogged down in self-talk. Encouragement and visualization are helpful, but nothing quite replaces actually doing the thing. You can tell a child, “You can do this,” a hundred times. But there is something transformative about the moment they actually do the hard thing and realize: “I did that.” That accomplishment belongs to them. No one handed it to them. They earned it. And they own it forever. Every time they do something they weren’t sure they could do, they add another piece of evidence to the growing belief that maybe, just maybe, they are capable of more than they thought.

7. Play is serious work.

This is one that touches me on an almost daily basis. I have the extraordinary privilege of having a career built around the what-if of imagination. I am constantly creating worlds in my mind and helping bring them to life onstage, and it is one of the most fulfilling things I have ever done. Imagination, improvisation, pretending, experimenting, and being silly aren’t wasted time. Through play, kids practice creativity, communication, problem-solving, empathy, flexibility, and trust. Those abilities matter far beyond a stage. They matter in relationships, classrooms, workplaces, communities, and pretty much anywhere humans have to figure things out together. Which is...everywhere.

8. Being seen matters enormously.

As adults, we sometimes devalue recognition. We convince ourselves that it is altruistic, or maybe even morally superior, not to care whether anyone notices what we contribute. But acknowledgement matters. Being seen matters. And kids have reminded me of that. Not every child in our program is the lead. That doesn’t matter. Sometimes one of the most important things an adult can do is simply notice:

“I saw what you did there.”

“I saw you help that younger kid.”

“I saw you keep trying.”

“I saw how much work you put into that.”

Those are small sentences. But at the right moment, to the right person, they can mean an enormous amount. Kids have reminded me how powerful genuine recognition can be, and that maybe adults need it, too.

9. The goal isn’t to create professional actors.

I’ve learned not to get bogged down in perfection. Most of these kids won’t pursue theater professionally, and that’s not the point. We’re helping create adults who can speak in front of people, collaborate with others, accept feedback, solve problems, take risks, recover from mistakes, and appreciate the arts. We teach them to keep going when something is difficult. To give their best effort. To contribute to something larger than themselves. To find beauty and pride in accomplishment, whatever that accomplishment may be. If some of them grow up to be professional actors, wonderful. But if they grow up to be teachers, engineers, nurses, plumbers, scientists, business owners, parents, or community volunteers who are a little more confident, creative, empathetic, and willing to stand in front of a room and speak? That’s a pretty great outcome, too.

10. The impact often isn’t visible when you’re making it.

This might be the hardest lesson, but the longer I am in theater, the more I see evidence of it. I now have kids I taught when they were 10, 11, or 12 years old coming back with children of their own and telling me they want their kids to do theater because it changed their lives. The arts make an impact on kids. But you don’t always know which rehearsal, role, friendship, compliment, ridiculous improv game, or quiet moment backstage is going to stay with a child. Sometimes you don’t find out until years later. Kids have taught me that the small moments matter precisely because we don’t get to choose which ones become important. We just have to keep creating them.

Maybe the Teachers Aren’t Always the Teachers

We talk a lot about what arts education gives kids. But after doing this for years, I’m increasingly aware of what the kids give us. They remind us to be brave. To play. To risk looking foolish. To recover quickly when things go wrong. To make room for each other. To notice people. To try things we aren’t sure we’ll be good at. And to celebrate what we create together. We may be the instructors. But we are definitely not the only teachers in the room.