There was a period of time when I thought my mother was going to marry my theatre director, merely because he would stop on his way home and talk to my mom for a few hours outside our house. His name was Michael and I was sure he was going to be my new father. I was twelve. It was a disturbingly upsetting thought.
Years later, he cast me in a show and gave me the solo, ‘My Heart Belongs To Daddy.’ I burst out laughing when I heard the title. I had to explain to him that, at age twelve, I’d been sure he was going to marry my Mom and be my new daddy. He almost laughed himself into a heart attack. Mom was equally amused. So was everyone we knew. Apparently the thought of him marrying my mother was enough to send folks into hysterics. That might be because the general consensus was that he was gay. Or it might have been because the thought of him, a grumpy crusty mess of a man marrying anyone, even my mother, was absurd. Whatever the reason, people would laugh themselves silly at the image of him as my father. Ironically, at this point Michael was the closest thing I'd had to a father figure since we’d moved to America and my father had disappeared from my life. During my teens, I spent far too much time each summer in his theatre; building sets, taking classes, performing and working as crew. I’d usually arrive before 9am and not leave until 2am. That would be totally illegal now but back then it was awesome! I learned so much about theatre and life and weird personalities during those intense angst ridden years. It was an awesome training ground. And, without either of us realizing it, Michael became a replacement for the father I’d never had growing up. As fathers go, he did a pretty good job. I have a solid moral compass. I have a very twisted sense of humor. I can quiet a room of fifty children with a shout and shut a kid up with a look. I can take a group of kids, with a myriad of issues, and turn them into a team working toward a single goal, letting them figure out the way with a nudge here and snarky comment there. And I know how to keep going despite the chaos and drama that surrounds me. Because that’s what you do in theatre, keep the show going on. Michael has been on my mind a lot of late. One of his catch phrases was “A well is a hole in the ground.” Which he said every time an awkward child stammered “Well...” to a question they should have known the answer to. Conversations usually went like this - Michael would spot us in the hallway or theatre or backstage and bark out, “What the hell are you doing with that boy/girl/hammer/spear?” “Um… well…” we’d stammer out, totally in the wrong but terrified to admit it. “A well is a hole in the ground.” He'd snap in a tone that could freeze fire. And we'd put down that boy/girl/hammer/spear and scurry to some dark corner and giggle, marveling at our near miss. He had other phrases that he’d use; “I breathe louder than that!” might be bellowed at you from the back of the audience as you struggled to get your lines out on stage. “God willing and the creek don’t rise.” would be grumbled at anyone who approached him and asked him if he was okay as he stormed outside for a cigarette - back when you could smoke outside a children’s theatre. Or my personal favorite, “The grass is always greener. But somebody has to mow it.” But the phrase I personally heard most was, “A well is a hole in the ground.” I was in a One-Act event last night where that phrase featured heavily. "Well...” my character would say. "A hole in the ground." the other character would respond. It was a short nine-minute play that shouldn’t have really affected me but those lines have time warped me back to those summer days and to Michael and his cantankerous self. Today, everything he stood for, everything he taught me seems to be swirling about my head. Five years ago, the same year he died, I ended up in his position at the theatre. My dream job. A job I thought I would have forever. When one person turned the dream to poop and broke me, I had to walk away. I have been struggling since then to figure out where my place is in this world. Where I can take my weird path of training and experience and do some good with it. What that good might be, I don’t know. Broken is a hard place to stand up from. This little One-Act play; the folks in it with their enthusiasm for theatre and all it can be, that phrase repeated like a mantra, have been like a Band-Aid on my wounds. It’s almost like Michael is standing next to me, blowing out smoke and telling me to get off my ass and mow my grass… I almost feel like I can do that now, move forward on my own path. If I can go without picking off the scab, I might actually be okay.
6 Comments
Bear
7/18/2014 04:28:54 am
Sitting here with wet eyes, grateful to you for writing so well about Michael and about his part in your life. We theater education folks are an odd breed, for we need to be organized and still in touch with our craziness. We are moms and dads and aunts and uncles for legions of kids who we can understand, as we were once them. Let us put our shoulders to the wheel and carry on, grateful for the fanciful gifts we've been given.
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ej
7/19/2014 01:49:02 am
Love that idea, Bear, being grateful for the "fanciful gifts we've been given." Still working on that gratitude every day!
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Taylor
7/18/2014 11:26:44 am
Beautifully put, ej.
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Señora Costell :-)
7/18/2014 02:34:53 pm
Remembering and loving all you Children's Theatre kiddos - how blessed you were to grow up together. And yes, Michael had a great deal to do with that. You likely are one of several who considered him to be a father. So glad that you are carrying on ! Missing you here in Palo Alto and reminding you that you still owe me page 73, exercises E and F. xoxoxo !
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ej
7/19/2014 01:47:38 am
Thank you Señora! It was a special place and a very special time. So sad that kids today won't get that - And that statement officially makes me old!
ej
7/19/2014 01:49:27 am
Thank you, Miss. Taylor!
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AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
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