In 6th grade, I was cast in the children’s chorus of our school district’s high school musical: Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. I got into the show because my good friend at the time, Jamie Laurie, who has two first names, wanted to audition and she told me about it on the bus and asked me to go with her. One at a time, alone with the piano, we had to sing “Happy Birthday” to the director, Mr. Kramer. He kept modulating it up, higher and higher, because the children’s chorus hits some crazy high notes.

“I knew you could do it!” he said to me when I was finished. I smiled and walked out.

I got cast. Jamie Laurie did not.

…

And so began my love affair with musical theatre. It morphed from after school activity to an all out obsession. My entire CD collection was filled with Original Cast Recordings of Broadway shows and when I turned 14, I took the train into the city as much as I could with my best friend Sam or my cousin Tom and we would buy $25 tickets to sit in the last row and see a show. It was all I did and all I wanted to do.

When the time came to apply to colleges, a musical theatre major was a no brainer. My mother gently tried to suggest a back up plan.

“How about teaching? Just in case?”

“NO.”

And that was that.

To her credit, she never brought it up again and neither of my parents ever tried to seriously talk me out of it. They may have been worried about the practicality of a B.F.A. in Music Theatre but with the exception of a handful of times, they never expressed that worry to me.

“You don’t want to be an old lady in a rocking chair regretting your choices,” said my father, as I filled out college applications at the kitchen table.

And I suppose I want to pause this story to use my mom and dad as an example: this is how you parent a very determined child who has a dream inside her heart and wants desperately to go after that. And who even more desperately? wants your love and support.

You don’t say “What is the POINT of that?”

You don’t say “You are setting yourself up for a lot of disappointment!”

You don’t say “I don’t think you have what it takes…”

You don’t remind her how competitive it is.

You don’t tell her too many people want that dream and her chances are slim to none.

You know why?

Because she will hear it from everyone else and she will figure it out herself.

She will be told time and time again that she is not good enough and that she is one of thousands and that she doesn’t have what it takes.

She doesn’t need to hear it from you.

I think being realistic is important but I think there’s a way to be both realistic and supportive. My mom reminded me that I have lots of other qualities and that I could do anything. She told me that the road might be tough but she was gentle when she said it. My parents made sure I was aware of the choice I was making and then they let me make it.

They stepped back. They let go.

And for that, I am still grateful.

Helicopter parents, they are not.

Stage mother? Absolutely hilariously no.

My parents seemed to effortlessly navigate this messy territory of supporting my dreams while still reminding me that other people existed within my universe. They told me it was great that I scored the lead in the high school play at 15 but ack! sorry! Dad has parent/teacher conferences on opening night and Mom has to stay home with my little brother so they would try to catch a later performance!

And they did.

They were never front row center with a video camera. They hardly ever bragged about me to friends. I believe they were most proud of me because I was a cantor at church and sang in the choir.

But when it came down to it, I knew my parents were there for me. They believed in me.

They raised me with a very specific definition of success: faith, love and happiness. So, they never pushed money as a life goal. Or security. Or anything conventional, really. The goal was to be happy.

And if I had to move eight hours away to study something completely insane and nonsensical, well then. I had their blessing.

So I kissed them both while we cried in my tiny freshman dorm room in Buffalo. We hugged and held on. And then they let me go. And drove away.

I was on my own. And moving forward for the first time.

And as I stepped into the reality of criticism, struggle and negativity, into the world of discovering I had so much farther to go than I thought, I carried their support with me like a shield. Their love and their belief in me carried me through heartbreaking rejection and sustained me through every disappointment. With every step I took, I knew they had my back and that even when it got really hard, there would be no ‘I told you so’s’.

I was the first of my siblings to graduate from college. And on the very windy sunny perfect Buffalo day I received my B.F.A. in Music Theatre, my parents were probably more proud of me than if I had graduated from med school. A dream had been planted in my heart. I had done something courageous by listening to it and taking a huge step toward following it.

I thanked them.

They taught me how.

 

 

 

More tomorrow!