A return to Neverland (#1368)

Topics/tags: Grinnell, Autobiographical

Today I attended one of the Fall 2025 performances by Grinnell’s own Neverland Players. As I noted in a prior musing, the Neverland Players are one of my favorite of Grinnell’s many great traditions. The basic premise is relatively simple, although quite creative: A group of college students (the Neverland Players) asks some elementary students (the Authors) to write short stories; the college students then adapt those stories into performances, sometimes adding appropriate morals and lessons as they go [1]. And, as is the norm at Grinnell, the college students take the lead in everything. The College provides support as requested.

The result is a joyous experience for all [2]. The audience has a great mix of people: Grinnell students, the Authors and their families, other townspeople, parents of the performers, even the occasional faculty member, and more. Throughout the many performances, the room fills with laughter, applause, and the occasional outburst. The performers bring talent (musical and theatrical), joy, and enthusiasm to their work. And, as you might expect, it’s utterly amazing to see the pride the Authors have in seeing their work presented, and it’s equally joyful to see their families’ pride in the Authors.

In addition, as I’ve told my students multiple times, there are a few things quite as hallucinogenic as a story written by an elementary school student [3]. Things pop in and out of existence, transform in wonderously expected ways, and move from locale to locale with little explanation. Almost everything can talk. And there are wonderous spirits that sometimes have questionable intent. At least one of the stories had a bit of potty humor; however, that was not included in the performance [4].

When the Neverland Players were first formed, I did my best to attend their performances. However, at some point, the more important parts of my life (i.e., family) got in the way, and I stopped. At this point, I have time again, and so I went last spring. More on that in a bit. I’m glad I was able make it this semester; I hadn’t been paying attention to what’s been happening on campus, but last semester’s directors let me know that it was this weekend, and I managed to snag a ticket for the last of four performances.

It was, as I suggested, wonderful. I don’t like to call out particular performers or performances, since everyone was spectacular. Nonetheless, I should note that I sat next to the parents of a unicorn and shared in their delight at their offspring’s captivating performances. I was also delighted to see the younger sibling of a favorite student perform. And a colleague’s advisee has miraculously transformed from a retired queen to an axolotl [5]. Of course, I also loved the puppies and gorillas and ninja superheroes and authors and kings and choruses and snakes and more. Congratulations to all! I also pretend to advise one of the directors [6].

As I noted, attending brought me joy. There’s also a bit of sadness, a sadness that accompanies all live performances. The performance was joyful and moving. It should be shared with the world [7]. Nonetheless, we’ve had these four performances, and now it’s done. Memories will linger, as will the occasional cell-phone recording. But recordings can’t capture the magic [8]. Still, an approximation may be better than nothing. I wonder if the College archives past performances.

In any case, I encourage all Grinnellians to try to get tickets to one of next semester’s performances. Just make sure to leave one for me! And if you’re a student, consider sharing your talents as part of the Players!

Postscript: My experience of this semester’s performance was both similar to and different from my experience of last semester’s. Last semester, it felt like the performance brought me more joy than I’d had since Michelle passed away. I needed to attend a second performance just to feel a bit more happiness. This semester’s performance also brought me joy and happiness, but it no longer feels like my life is missing joy. I may be depressed, sometimes even deeply depressed, but I manage to feel joyful and happy with some regularity. Michelle would be proud.

[1] They don’t always have to insert lessons; kids know about important things in life; sometimes they know more than adults.

[2] Or at least it seems to be.

[3] No drugs necessary!

[4] At least not this year.

[5] If I recall correctly, last year’s show had axolotls in one piece. I’m moderately sure that this year’s had them in two or more. Will the troupe eventually become the Axolotland Players?

[6] I hope they’ll tell me about the show in the spring!

[7] Copyright, schmopyright. The GenAI companies have already shown that copyright is a myth.

[8] I could be wrong. I was amazed at how well the televised version of The Des Moines Symphony’s performance of The Cunning Little Vixen showed off Oyoram’s visual compositions [9].

[9] I’m glad to have found that on YouTube. I need to watch it again. I also need to share it with others [10].

[10] Hint. Hint. Also: I recommend watching with captions on.

Version 1.0 of 2025-10-05.