Dear Spike:
The middle school production of Newsies was two and a half hours long. You and the other mill girls were on stage for about five minutes. (And by "on stage," here, what I really mean is "on the steps of the stage or in the theater walkways.")
You didn't have any lines, just verses in the chorus. And from where I was sitting, I couldn't even make out your voice.
There are no small parts. Only small actors. And small parents, I suppose, because I would have loved to see you in a bigger role.
Truth be told, I've been a bit annoyed by how much time you've been asked to put into this thing. You had to miss other obligations for all-day Saturday rehearsals, then came home to report that you didn't really do much during those practices. After the first one, you started bringing card games so that you and the other mill girls would have something to do in the hours — hours! — in which you were just sitting around, waiting.
But, as I should have expected, a lot was forgiven when you came into the theater.
Now, I'm no about to tell you that you stole the show, or even a scene. What you did do, though, was what you've taught me to expect of you in every facet of your life: You threw yourself into it. Every little bit of choreography. Every facial expression. Everything that could be mustered by a mill girl singing "Seize the Day," you mustered.
And I think you had fun. Which is the point, after all.
Maybe next year you'll have a bigger role. Maybe you won't. If you're OK with that then I'm OK with that.
Seize the day. Or whatever little part of it you can.
Love,
dad
The middle school production of Newsies was two and a half hours long. You and the other mill girls were on stage for about five minutes. (And by "on stage," here, what I really mean is "on the steps of the stage or in the theater walkways.")
You didn't have any lines, just verses in the chorus. And from where I was sitting, I couldn't even make out your voice.
There are no small parts. Only small actors. And small parents, I suppose, because I would have loved to see you in a bigger role.
Truth be told, I've been a bit annoyed by how much time you've been asked to put into this thing. You had to miss other obligations for all-day Saturday rehearsals, then came home to report that you didn't really do much during those practices. After the first one, you started bringing card games so that you and the other mill girls would have something to do in the hours — hours! — in which you were just sitting around, waiting.
But, as I should have expected, a lot was forgiven when you came into the theater.
Now, I'm no about to tell you that you stole the show, or even a scene. What you did do, though, was what you've taught me to expect of you in every facet of your life: You threw yourself into it. Every little bit of choreography. Every facial expression. Everything that could be mustered by a mill girl singing "Seize the Day," you mustered.
And I think you had fun. Which is the point, after all.
Maybe next year you'll have a bigger role. Maybe you won't. If you're OK with that then I'm OK with that.
Seize the day. Or whatever little part of it you can.
Love,
dad
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