Yes, You Can!

This weekend I took Bergen, Mosely and London to a community theatre’s production of Oliver.

(It’s from my favorite Charles Dickens’ novel and I only just read it for the first time last year.   How did I receive an English degree without reading that novel, Cumberland College?  How?)

I love community theatre.  I miss it really.

(And watching the show reminded me of how much I liked that stage scene.  And I think I did a pretty decent job when that was my field of expertise.  Despite what that one off-off-off-off Broadway director said when I brought him his requested red candles.  “No. No,” he scolded me.  “I want the candles to be more red.”  Whatever, man.  Whatever.  That was also the production that involved several of my most embarrassing on stage moments.  One – Being forced to do an audition for a musical even though I insisted I was there to be a Props & Costumes Manager.  Silly, pompous director (same guy) coerced me into singing “Let It Be” on stage.  We all regretted it. Two – Discovering one week before the show’s opening that Young Dancer Number Four was being pulled from the play because of bad grades or something and I was the impromptu stand in.  And I had to dance on stage every performance with a very sweaty, rather enormous gentleman whose stinky little beads of sweat dripped down my arm.  Every show.)

Man, I like to follow a rabbit trail here and there, don’t I?

I have faithfully taken our children to see loads of plays.  (And even had other people take them as well.)  Riley saw Bye Bye Birdie and Fiddler on the Roof before she even hit third grade.  We watched MacBeth in a theatre designed just like the Globe.  We’ve seen shows like Schoolhouse Rock, If You Give A Pig A Pancake and To Kill A Mockingbird. We watch shows performed in historic playhouses, high school gymnasiums, fields and professional venues.

I love a good show – or even a mediocre one.

Because it’s real.  It’s authentic.  It has never been before and will never be again.  Never the same show twice.  Because it’s not recorded and watched on my DVR when it’s convenient.  It’s raw and organic and a bit of a fading art.

And I like to introduce our kids to that kind of beauty and that kind of effort.  People working for weeks to pull off one night – one hour – of a slice of life.

On the drive to the theatre I explained the story of young Oliver Twist to the kids so it would be easier to follow along with the show.  They were already on Oliver’s side before we even entered the theatre.  “Does Oliver finally end up with the good people?” London wanted to know.  I wouldn’t tell her.  (I don’t ever give away endings.  Just ask Riley.)

After the curtain dropped and the bows were taken and the flowers passed out, the four of us hopped out of our wooden seats and stretched a bit.  (It was a long performance.)

And then Mosely asked The Question.

The Question that made all of the cost of tickets and the arranging of childcare and the supporting of the local arts worthwhile to me.

Mosely asked,

“Mommy, can I be on stage one day?”

Oh – kid.  Yes.  Yes, you can!