My Mother, the Star

I got a strange call from my mother a few days ago. 

She said she wanted my opinion on something, which usually means that she’s thinking of buying new drapes for the dining room.  From what she tells me, my father has decided that the only thing worth living for is a game of golf.  Every few years, the old man gets off the couch but it comes and goes in patches of several years on and several years off.  Well, he’s back in it full-swing (sorry, I couldn’t resist) which gives my mother ample time to pet the dogs and watch QVC. 

She was telling me all about how they’d driven to Lancaster for the day to go shop at the outlets.  My father had recently installed a Sirius radio in the “truck” (which is really an SUV, but they call it a “truck”; a choice I cannot get behind) and my mother quickly discovered the Broadway station. 

I was very impressed as she recalled the hosts by name, Seth Rudetsky and Christine Pedi, and said that whenever a new song would come on, she could identify the singer or what show it was from.  Obviously, I taught her well.  In fact, every morning when she would drive me to school, I would pick a different show for us to listen to in the car.  We covered Ain’t Misbehavin’ to You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown (and if you expected me to name a show that starts with "Z", it would never happen because I don't like Zorba).  After that, what she hasn’t heard, she’s seen with her subscription to all of the touring shows that pass through Baltimore, as well as what I take her to in New York.  

Theater originally started as my thing, but I think I made a serious convert.  And, like all of the converted, she is possibly more devout than other ordinary believers. 

But, like I said, she was calling to ask my advice mentioning that she had been bored lately and, for years, everyone had been telling her to get a hobby.  A few days ago, she was sent a catalogue in the mail from the local community college.  Apparently, she thumbed her way straight to the Performing Arts section.

“I’m thinking of taking a basic acting class.  What do you think?”

Wait.  What?  For real?  My mother had registered for an acting class.  

Let me fill you in on a little backstory here.  My mother has been in one play in her entire life.  When she was a teenager, she was cast in the synogauge’s production of Fiddler on the Roof.  She played Yente, the Matchmaker.  She's recounted the story of the performance many times.  When she went onstage for her first scene, she looked into the audience with a dead-eye stare and instantly forgot all of her lines.  Sadly, I don’t know what happened next.  Every time I ask her to finish this story, she cannot seem to recall it's ending.  It seems that her repression of the "acting incident" knows no depths.  

When I was growing up, I did a lot of theater.  My mother was amazing about it.  She drove me to a lot of auditions, and rehearsals, and performances.  She would either wait in the car, or sit in the lobby or buy a ticket.  There has never been a bigger enthusiast for my infatuation with the arts than this woman.  Which is why, when she asked me if this was a good idea, I told her, “... fuck yeah.”  

Look, I would be painting a rosy picture if I didn't say that my mother was officially the last person I would ever ask to run my lines with me back when I was acting.  Or that it doesn’t make my skin do the oogly-boogly dance to think of her working on a scene from The Shadowbox.  At the moment, it feels slightly unnerving to watch as our separate worlds are about to be pureed in a galactic blender.  But I’m sure that will pass. 

Right away, I told her that I think it’s a great idea.  Aside from getting her out of the house, it’s a wonderful opportunity for her to meet new friends, to find a little more value in herself and for her to express some emotion while getting positive attention for so.  Worst-case scenario: she hates it and quits after a week.  If that’s the case, she’s out $85, which is chump change to pay for a valuable lesson in "never do that again".  Best-case scenario: this class can change what she sees when she looks in the mirror. 

Also, selfishly- if I didn’t encourage her, what was I going to write about for June and July? 

This summer got a brand new star.