Diva. Diva. Diva. If you have never experienced that words leave a mark, lucky you.

I have read comments from people making light of those who are damaged by words. I understand their intention – we can’t live life being offended every time someone hurts our feelings.

This, however, was more.

This was a teacher, labeling an impressionable teen with a neon (it was the ’80’s) banner.

But, with age comes wisdom. While “diva” took something from me, it also gave me a gift.

This diva could coach.

My years in Chicago were spent directing, choreographing, and privately coaching young talents. And aside from two situations where I modeled that teacher’s response to me in how I handled two impressionable students of my own (goodness, forgive me), I developed a healthy balance of “You are doing great,” and “Truthfully, this song is not working for you.”

Suddenly, I was in demand. Coaching kids for school shows, commercial auditions, professional Chicago theater, the national tour of Evita, etc. And they were cast. My track record was strong. The referrals poured in. I was coaching almost every night of the week. The instincts I had as an actor were transferred in the coaching process. I could HEAR and SEE and FEEL what the student needed to do in order to clinch the role.

Where had I learned this?

I didn’t.

This was my, “You’ve always had the power to go back to Kansas” moment.

My words were leaving a mark.

The natural ability I always doubted needed a different vehicle.

Coaching was that vehicle.

My classes had a waiting list, parents sometimes fought over who got to book an appointment with me, I began coaching a traveling troupe of kids who were so incredibly talented it baffled me. How were there so many talented kids on the north shore of Chicago at the same time?

For 10 years, I taught, directed, coached, and watch kids book jobs. I hunted down appropriate monologues and songs. I stressed the need for these kids to tell a story rather than be a child performer. Everything I felt I didn’t possess when I was their age, I attempted to draw out of them.

I loved them all.

And on the day they threw me a party because it was time for my family to move . . . I sat in tears as they sang the first songs we had ever worked on together, told stories, and even sang an original piece written by one of those students.

I left Chicago knowing who I was.

A coach.

Little did I know . . .