My father is a terribly interesting person. He's done everything. No, really. From playing in Broadway pit orchestras to doing carpeting for senators, he's done a lot and usually has a lot of crazy stories. ("I wouldn't be surprised if your father was a figure skater in Taiwan." - Emily) He knows a little bit about everything, and is really useful to have around. My father is also incredibly perky.
Many of you know my father. (One of you IS my father.) He's silly, punny, fun to be around. This is great, until you're a teenager who is distinctly NOT a morning person. My father is the kind of guy who will wake up singing "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning", whereas my morning showtune is definitively "Oh, How I Hate To Get Up In The Morning". This is a clash. Also, when you hear the exchange, "How are you?" "I'm Duane fine," so many times, it gets a bit old. There have been definite tensions between me and my father.
One of the things I noticed about my father over this summer was how much he loves interacting with people. This is something I'm not particularly good with, as I've mentioned earlier in this blog. Often, my mother and I have been frustrated when he immediately asks a salesperson for help finding something. Whereas we want to discover it for ourselves, he enjoys other people so much that the joy for him is having a connection with the person. And it works. Everyone at my dentist office (who are all enthusiastic, lovely people) loves him for how personable he is. They're happier when he's there, he's happier, it works. Since I've understood by now that I should just not be around him in the morning, I've grown to really appreciate this enthusiasm of my father.
Mushiness aside, my father is full of surprises, such as this phone conversation of last year:
Me: I'm becoming obsessed with William Morris.
My Mother starts laughing.
Me: What?
My Mother: Your father is obsessed with William Morris.
Me: WHAT?!
My Father: I'm obsessed with William Morris!
Me: But I'M obsessed with William Morris!
Later, he reveals to me that he once found a FIRST EDITION KELMSCOTT PRESS WILLIAM MORRIS BOOK in a used book store for next to nothing and largely paid for grad school by selling it.
(ps, Dad: I stole the William Morris books you left on one of the bookshelves in my room. So if you're wondering where they are... they're in New York now. :P )
Today, he dropped this bombshell:
My Father: I haven't seen a production of Tongues since... 1978, I think....
Me: ...wait, 1978?
My Father: Yes.
Me: ...you saw the original production of Tongues!?
My Father: Well, yes--
Me: YOU SAW THE ORIGINAL PRODUCTION OF TONGUES AND YOU DID NOT MENTION IT UNTIL NOW?!
My Father: Well, I hadn't connected it...
Me: ...I don't even know what to say to you right now...
...right. Of COURSE he did. Of course.
I've discovered that the secret to directing is being brilliant, all the time. That's all you have to do as a director. Of course, most of the time we're not brilliant so we just make it up and hope no one notices. Today in rehearsal there was an absolutely beautiful moment of actor/lighting collaboration like nothing I'd ever seen before. Stunning. I wish I could take credit for it.
I actually do not have rehearsal tomorrow. I don't understand this concept.
D. Toole said...
ReplyDeleteOk. It's confession time. I spent bits of time in the City from 1971 until 1979. I saw lots of plays. There were musicals of all types (I particularly liked the experimental ones), and straight plays in huge and tiny theaters. Over that eight-year period, I probably saw two hundred or so shows. I played in probably 30. And now 30 years have passed. There are a few moments that are crystal clear, but most of the time I've forgotten what play they were in. Sometimes something will trigger a memory and remind me of what I saw or heard. I wish I had instant recall, but I don't. Age is a "beach."
I confess I didn't pay much attention. You see, I never thought those memories were important. They were just fun, interesting things to do and see.
But though they are part of me now, and I am changed by them, the plays are mostly pretty dim memories, clouded by time and newer experiences.
The Big Confession: I didn't know that the production I saw of Tongues was the original production. I must've read it, but . . . forgot. And I don't think it was in NY. It could've been in LA, or Chicago, or San Francisco or Miami.
One other confession: your being in the City was hard for me because of muggings I saw when I was there. I do know it is much safer there, now, but still...
Now about those William Morris books: be careful about reading the facsimile edition; that ancient romanesque typestyle will make your eyes cross.
PS I'm very proud of you.
Yeah, it would have been in San Francisco.
ReplyDeleteAND I DON'T HAVE THE FACSIMILE EDITION. We determined it was lost in the flood in Maryland, after I sent you looking all over your mother's house for it. I wish we could find it.
I was hoping you were going to confess that you actually were a figure skater in Taiwan.