The best advice I've ever gotten

Spring 1992

I stared in awe at the backstage area. The room we were in was huge (and it was only one of several like it), and it was your classic dressing room--mirrors lined the walls, and each mirror was surrounded by those large, round lights. There were closets housing costumes, and the carpet was even red. I tried not to gawk, but it was hard not to. It all felt so professional. And here I was, a lowly 15-year-old sophomore in high school, getting ready to perform in front of the biggest audience of my life.

I was not going to perform alone, though--I was with 5 other girls from my school, and together, the 6 of us had competed in a national competition (in the category of "small ensemble") with a quaint little song about a county fair. We'd already performed for the judges, and our scores were set in place. But we were more nervous than we'd ever been.

We were quite used to this competition--every year, our school dominated the other private schools in our state when it came to music, so taking a trip to a faraway private college campus to compete in the national competition was nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, just the previous year (which was my freshman year, and my first year competing nationally, since you had to be in high school for that level), our 12-girl ensemble had taken first place. Though we were more than pleased with that result, we had hoped to perform during the awards ceremony as well, but it didn't happen.

The awards cerermony, held on the final night, was the pinnacle of the Nationals experience each year. A handful of performers were selected to showcase their talents during the ceremony, and it was a huge honor to be chosen. This year, the awards ceremony had been moved to a bigger venue, due to the amount of students that now attended Nationals. The Amphitorium easily seated a few thousand people.

And this was how we found ourselves backstage in the Amphitorium, in this massive dressing room. Though being selected to perform was not a guarantee that you had won first place, it was a pretty strong indication. But whether or not we'd won first place was the last thing on our minds--we were too busy being simultaneously thrilled and terrified about performing.

The entire roundup of performers was kept in the same room, and with nothing better to do, we all chit-chatted and got to know each other, which proved to be a great diversion from our nerves. The only one who stands out in my mind was the boy who had been selected to perform in the category of "Humorous Interpretation" (the fancy title for a humorous monologue). I barely remember what he looked like, but I know his name was Aaron, and it soon became obvious to all of us why he had been selected--he was hilarious, and we had no doubt that his personality must have shone through when he performed his speech. He kept the entire group entertained and laughing as we waited. Again, I don't remember anything specific--only that we were all his captive audience, and the thought that we would soon be performing in front of several thousand people was suddenly the furthest thing from our minds.

But our entertainment soon came to an end--someone popped into the room and called for our ensemble. The 6 of us stood, took one last glance in the mirrors, and filed out into the hallway, following the person who had called us. We took our spot in the wings and waited for our moment in the spotlight. We all fell quiet--mostly because we had to, being so close to the stage now, but partly because our nerves were back, and back full-force. We exchanged some tight smiles, squeezed each other's hands, and mostly focused on breathing and not passing out.

Mere seconds before we were to make our entrance, Aaron came dashing around the corner, looking a bit wild-eyed and out of breath (though it was hard to tell if that was real, or just an act). We all just stared at him, puzzled. What could be so urgent at the last minute?

He took a breath, collected himself, and very seriously said, "I have something really important to tell you, before you go out on that stage. You need to listen carefully."

He had our full attention as we all leaned slightly toward him.

With a no-nonsense stare, he enunciated his words carefully: "Never... play leapfrog... with a unicorn." He waited a beat, then dashed away as quickly as he had come.

It took a second for his crazy words to sink in, and then we found ourselves chuckling quietly. And just as our giggles began, we got the signal to go on stage. We marched out with huge smiles on our faces. No one in the audience needed to know why--let them go ahead and think we were just that cool and confident.

And for the record... yes, we did win first place for our singing ensemble. And Aaron (who we got to see perform later, from the comfort of our seats in the audience) also took home first place.

And, 16 years later, I still have not forgotten his words of wisdom.