Kindergarten performances in Taiwan usually take place in December and around Mother’s Day. It is a time when the students (age 3-7) showcase their learning. It’s also an enrollment boosting promotion for the school. After surviving two of these spectacles, I feel qualified to give teachers advice on ‘How to plan a Kindergarten Performance in Taiwan’.

First, hear about the performance from your managers, about two months in advance. The requirements are simple. Each child must speak one or two lines in English. There should be a song and a dance. Pick out costumes (and who could resist those adorable costumes laid out so neatly in the catalogs!). Write a script and submit it for management approval. Sit back, eying your script, marveling at your brilliance. Think to yourself, ‘I’ve missed my calling! I ought to have been in theater!’. The script is witty but not sarcastic. Humorous, but thought-provoking. It will give your students a chance to build their confidence and show them for the brilliant, adorable, fun little ones that they are. Smile. This is going to be awesome!

Then, listen with growing anxiety as you catch the rumors- your school is in dire need of a stellar performance. They are losing money. We really must boost enrollment, or people will lose their jobs. Your co-teachers are worried. In this economy, it will be difficult for them to find another job. You are worried- could the school really shut down? What about your visa? What about your beautiful students? Work harder on the script. Realize, far too late, that the script is definitely too complex for your students. Though they are brilliant, they are at the age where sitting down on stage, removing their shoes, and examining their own toes is still a fascinating and viable educational activity. They don’t get the stage directions, which are in a language that they still largely don’t understand. And why did you think they could master the Charleston when most of them only recently learned to walk? Revise the script. Simplify it. The wit and banter is lost, but some of the brilliance remains.

Three weeks before the performance, management will watch it for the first time. You’ve had plenty of time to practice, so it should be about ready, shouldn’t it? Children who knew their lines only yesterday stare at you blank-faced. Little Johnny and Suzie fight over the microphone. Linda solves the dilemma by kicking Johnny, who immediately begins to howl. You are laughing, until you see that management is stone-faced. Later, the verdict is in. The performance is terrible. It makes no sense. The props are amateur. The choreography is uninspired. The song (an 80′s big hair band ballad which was still a hilarious choice only yesterday) is weird. Revise. Revise again. Listen to their criticism then calmly threaten to quit your job. Cry as often as needed, but preferably not in front of your students. Throw up your hands and decide, a week before your performance, that you can’t change the script anymore. Wake your students up early from their nap to practice. Forget the rest of the curriculum. Practice, practice practice. Bribe with candy. Praise freely. Try not to resort to violence.

The day of the performance arrives. You will be a basket-case. Your stomach will be full of butterflies and you will guide your students through the performance like a patient with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You will remember nothing moments after it is over. You look at your students, taking a precarious bow under the footlights. They are adorable and wonderful and so uniquely themselves. You look at the parents, who’s eyes are moist and hearts are bursting with pride. You look at management, which gives you a forced smile and a stiff thumbs up. You think to yourself, maybe it was all worth it. The next day, you begin to plan the performance which will happen in six months. Rehearsals will begin Monday. This time, you’ll get it right…