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On Tutoring

 For a year, I've waded through high-school geometry with my student, my theater kid, but neither of us feels fully invested "in the game."


There is beauty in geometry; you don't have to try hard to feel moved by transversals and parallel lines, congruent triangles, dilations and reflections. I really like that there are certain rules about shapes--and the rules never change. Vertical angles will always be what they are. If you see a pair today, it's the same pair that existed 2000 years ago.

But my theater kid prefers to talk about Romeo and Juliet--and I think she knows that that's my wheelhouse. "What do you think Romeo really wants here?" I ask, and my pulse begins to race. "I think you're saying, kiddo, that Romeo has issues with Tybalt, but his real issues are internal. He knows he is a mess, but he can't really force himself to change. He is fortune's fool."

My student gives me an indulgent look and murmurs, "Yep. That's exactly what I'm saying."

"I think," I add, "that you're really going for a Spring Awakening vibe in the balcony scene. These children, they're wearing their ruffles and carrying their parasols, or whatever, but then they pull out hand mics and they start to shriek about masturbating."

"Exactly," says my student. (In her spare time, she is working on a Netflix adaptation of Dear Evan Hanson. Netflix may not know anything about this, but my student has big plans. "There will be secrets and lies and all that good stuff, but really it's touching on mental health and suicide and other important issues....")

"Anyway, Tybalt is just a child. He has his chest all puffed up....but the minute Romeo turns away....you could have Tybalt visibly crumpling. I mean.....he could be on the verge of tears...."

This is how I spend each Wednesday afternoon. My student is unaware, but she is a bright light in the middle of my week, week after week, and I'm so thankful.
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