WHO’S A DRAMA QUEEN?

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BY JOELLEN COLLINS

JoEllen Collins—a longtime resident of the Wood River Valley—is a teacher, writer, fabric artist, choir member and unabashedly proud grandma known as “Bibi Jo.”

I often laugh when someone calls me a drama queen. I don’t accept it as a pejorative because I know they are right. In my life as a talkative child, English teacher, and a storyteller, I’m afraid that M.O. is true.

There is a difference between grandiosity and hyperbole, a technique often used through vocal emphasis, timing, or gestures to brighten a tale. I don’t like a false portrayal, but the exaggeration of a good comic or performer may be essential for shared enjoyment. If you ever get a chance to see a recording of Hal Holbrook’s inimitable performance as Mark Twain, you will know what I mean. Any opera worth loving usually has heightened characters whose personalities match the intensity of the singing. Grandiosity is natural in this context.

I happen to adore the drama queens I know, perhaps because I’ve always been a frustrated actress. My dream was to be on Broadway, an ambition that was not realized, probably due to a lack of true talent or not being daring enough. Also, as the first person in my family to go to college, I honored the wishes of my parents to get a teaching credential. That profession became a perfect receptacle for my drama-queen and ham instincts. Former students have commented on how a particular story of mine made them more likely to enjoy class. When I taught teenagers, I decided that every Friday I would spend fifteen minutes with each class reading from a book I hoped my hormone-active pupils would enjoy. Occasionally, I would see one of them with a book I had introduced. I still get a thrill out of making someone laugh or respond with a story of their own to one of mine.

My closest lifelong friend is a dancer who once studied with Jerome Robbins in New York. She has since served the longest time on record on the board of the San Francisco Ballet. We love to laugh, share tales and see stimulating movies; we’ve never been bored with each other. I admire her drama-queen instincts. If you could watch her dance, even socially, you would know why I sent her a copy of The New Yorker cartoon that hung in her kitchen for years. Pictured standing in a subway car was a woman dressed in a flamenco-like outfit holding on to a strap; her other hand formed a triangle on her hips. Her facial expression matched the theatricality of her pose, and a long-stemmed red rose was clamped in her mouth. Drama queens are always interesting, though I wonder why men aren’t labeled as drama kings.

The next time I toss my head back after a dinner and say, “This is the best meal I’ve ever enjoyed,” please don’t roll your eyes at my effusive repetition. The real drama in life is the ability to fully savor an immediate pleasure and share one’s passion with others. I prefer the exquisite saraband of life. Sometimes it’s worth being hammy with enthusiasm.