“I can swim like a duck.”
Trinculo from Shakespeare’s “The Tempest”
Once performed by the great Esteban Pazmino, a former fifth-grade student and hilarious actor who played the role brilliantly in my 2004 production of “The Tempest.”
That was back when I had a stage in my classroom, complete with curtains, lighting, and sets. I produced a Shakespearean production every year for over two decades, until the stage was removed from my classroom during the pandemic to allow for social distancing.
When the pandemic receded and it was time to return to Shakespeare, an adult or adults deemed a 14-inch elevated platform in a classroom too dangerous, despite two decades of safe existence before then and the existence of elevated platforms in other spaces throughout the district.
Just like that, the stage, curtain, stage lighting, and sets were rendered void, and a legacy of children performing Shakespeare in front of their parents and fellow students was gone.
My former students are outraged, as am I. They often visit — including multiple times this week — and share stories about their time performing Shakespeare, citing it as one of the most memorable aspects of their elementary school careers. Many can still recite lines from their play. Even more say that those performances made them more confident, collaborative, and courageous.
Four years later, and I am still outraged. I am also despondent, heartbroken, and disgusted.
When education is degraded and joy is stolen from a school day, it is always because lazy, uninformed, and uncaring adults in power have chosen to make their lives easier at the expense of children.
All I have now are the memories, including Estaban Pazmino, making an audience roar with laughter while proclaiming, “I can swim like a duck!”
This is Shakespeare’s way of reminding us that if you’re asked if you can swim, you can say “Yes,” or you can say something more specific, artful, amusing, or memorable, like “I can swim like a duck!”
It’s a lesson I teach clients quite often:
When asked a simple question, avoid providing a simple answer whenever possible.
A question is a gift. It’s an invitation to make a positive, impactful, memorable impression. Instead of the simple, expected answer, offer something of yourself. Share a detail. Offer a bit of biography. Be amusing. Say something unexpected. Be vulnerable.
A question is an invitation to speak. Don’t let it go to waste.
