Elizabeth: Emotional Impact

My week of vacation had barely started on Saturday when I burst into tears.

It was a great day.

Hmm . . . perhaps I should explain.

After a long, long, long wait, I finally got a chance to see a performance of Hamilton this Saturday.  The first time the show came to town the performances were completely sold out in a heartbeat.  I diligently entered the ticket lottery every day but, sadly, was never successful.  I was disappointed, not just because I wanted to see the show, but because I had been trying to get the tickets for my son, who really, really wanted to see the show.

Alas, no tickets.

Instead, I gave him the book, Hamilton the Revolution, which has all of the lyrics and story notes and such, and a promise of tickets “someday.”

This year, “someday” finally appeared on the calendar – it was this Saturday as a matter of fact.  We hopped on the train, headed to the city, and made our way to the beautiful Orpheum theater with a few thousand other folks.

Now, American history is not my strong suit, but I knew the basic gist of what would happen in the show.  I’d seen a behind-the-scenes documentary about it on the local PBS station, and my son had helpfully gone through the songs in the first act with me, so I’d have a clue what they were saying.

Nevertheless, as the final song was sung and the audience was surging to their feet with applause at the end of the performance, I was crying like a baby who’d been completely caught by surprise.

How did the creators (and cast) do that? Continue reading