A snapshot of my preschool graduation: we wore our tiny yellow paper caps, sitting in a row of small chairs, waiting for our names to be read. One by one, my classmates rose proudly. They walked up to receive their “diplomas,” smiled, and shook hands—an easy exercise for most. And then there was me. I sat in my colorful jumpsuit with its scalloped white collar, avoiding eye contact, hands tightly folded in my lap. “Emily Arsenault,” they called. A pause. “Emily Arsenault…” Afraid to move, I kept my head down, trying to disappear behind that yellow square. Eventually, one of the adults knelt by my side and handed me the little piece of paper. Relief… I had successfully avoided my moment in the spotlight.
I am sure that if someone had asked my preschool teachers to guess which one of their students would eventually fall in love with theatre, they would not have chosen me. At home, I was playful and energetic, brimming with stories to tell and songs to sing. My imagination was full of characters and ideas, and I brought them to life in the pictures I drew and the dialogues I created with my dolls and teddy bears. But stepping into the big world out there, I found that it wasn’t always easy to share my voice. At school, I was never the first one to raise my hand. Slow to warm up to new situations, I was shy and reserved, more comfortable listening than speaking, more likely to watch than to take center stage.
Over time, I certainly began to come out of my shell. I learned to let go, open up, and share my personality and thoughts with others. However, fourth grade offered me the opportunity to take an even bigger step. In social studies, we were developing creative projects about regions in the United States, and my group decided to write a play based on our research. The process began—we developed our characters, wrote our script, blocked and rehearsed our scenes—and suddenly, something shifted for me. I found that I was ready, somewhat unexpectedly, to raise my head, to stand, to speak up. I was ready to step into the shoes of my character, and to share more of myself by understanding and embodying another. I found comfort in the transformation. And on the stage, I found opportunity. This was a place for creation, a home for all of the ideas, stories, images, and words that had forever swirled around my head and in my notebooks. This was a place for my voice to grow, a safe way for me to test the waters of expression. This was a place where I could be seen and heard, and for the first time, I began to truly enjoy that.
This fourth-grade moment, of course, led to many other moments—auditions and summer theatre camps and Saturday classes and plays—with each experience offering me the chance to stretch a little more, take another risk, and expand the boundaries of my comfort zone. It sparked an interest that grew into a passion, a course of study, and eventually, a career. As a performing arts teacher, I am happy to be able to share my love of an art form that has been a cornerstone of my life and growth. While I know that some of my students will go on to explore theatre in the future, my hope for all of them is that their experiences in drama will inform them as thinkers, creators, and people—regardless of the paths they choose.
I hope that they will learn to be spontaneous, to think on their feet, and to adapt to the circumstances at hand.
I hope they will continue to take positive risks and applaud their peers when they do the same.
I hope they will be leaders, collaborators, and innovators, and that within life’s frustrations, questions, and moments of emptiness, they will find inspiration to create.
I hope they will open themselves to authentic connections, divergent perspectives, and the possibility of stepping into another’s shoes. I hope they will always aim for greater understanding.
I hope they will recognize the power of stories and seek opportunities to share their own. I hope they always remember how to imagine, pretend, and play.
And finally, I hope that they will grow into adults who make eye contact, stand proudly, and are never afraid to raise their heads.