Thirty kids sat on tall metal stools. They sat behind one inch tables of laminated yellow pine, three feet by five feet. They sat slouching, sleeping, sheepishly peeping, peering, searching, staring out the long glass window, cloudless sky, Desert Locust, Palo Verde trees and Sage. Some sat glaring, daring me to talk. Some sat sadly. Already board, looking at their watches, barely five minutes chipped into the next three grinding hours.
One, maybe two, sat leaning forward a little, watching me, waiting.
Just a summer ago these kids were in high school, bumping and grinding into each other and into the wall of the future. Like deer in headlights, they seemed surprised by the light of limitless landscapes of choice. They stumbled into class confused, worried, frightened, oblivious, except for one or two.
These few spread their hands across the big wooden slabs of their drafting tables as if they could feel power within. They leaned over and studied the fat black plastic knobs on the sides and the slides that slipped through them that would tilt the table. They kept looking forward, waiting for the professor to talk.
These were the curious ones. These were the teachable.
In every class of thirty students, only one or two lean forward or sit on the front row or smile. Only one or two capture the heart in me that loves to share. The others will get back what they bring to class, a "B-", a "C" or a "D".
And I do not grade on a curve.
About one hundred kids and some twenty teachers sat on bleachers listening to the Architect talk about design, yin and yang and chi, energy and light and shadow and play and the whole idea of learning. This was a high school for the "challenged". A school for the kids that just didn't fit into other high schools. A special school for the weird ones, the wild ones, the pierced, the tattooed, the mohawk orange, lime green, black, the angry, the depressed and "OK, so I'm pregnant,"," no-fitters", misfits. A school for the overly gifted.
But still, just a few, really, only one, leaned forward on the bleacher and hung on my words and raised a hand to question.
Only one.
Her name is Albanie Falletta. I congratulated her Thursday night for dropping out of that special school her senior year. I admitted to her that I had too, dropped out from being Architect on her school when the tides turned from green and sustainable and fun for the kids, to legal, official, mundane. We both smiled, misfits, connected again after five years.
Thursday night last, Lynn and a few friends and I, in black tie, drove across town to listen to nineteen year old Albanie and Her Fellas. This was her official debut. We slipped into the crowd of perfectly bizarre bazaar bohemian generation x, y and z, the weird ones, the wild ones, the pierced, the tattooed, the mohawk orange, lime green, black haired crowd and us, salt and peppered.
And Albanie blew the crowd away.
The little girl who leaned forward on the bleachers and raised her hand in question, the bright, smiling, inquisitive child who didn't care what time it was, who leaned forward and wanted to learn and to share, well,
I predict you're all going to wish you knew her as my friends and I do. She is going to set the local, then regional, then national jazz scene on fire. Her passion for song and rhythm - blues born from being one of those destined for a special school and one of the rare ones out of thirty, who lean forward in their seats or sit in the front row - I promise you, you will feel Albanie in your bones and your butt will want to boogie.
I'll prove it. Decmber 4th. CastleRock. Another First Friday Art Out Loud.
PS ... this Monday isn't just about Albanie. It's about the Albanie in all of us that wants out, that wants to learn and to lean forward into Daring to Dream Out Loud. Share your Dream. It's worth it!
