Playing Mom
In which I see my younger self in my fake daughter.
SHOWGIRL posts are for paid subscribers and will chronicle my experience performing in a local theater guild’s Fall 2024 production of The Music Man—my first foray into musical theater in over 30 years. Get the background here and here, and please consider upgrading your subscription to support my future writing (and entertaining!) efforts.
I have a daughter. Her name is Ellie and she is eight years old. She’s also blond.
I know what you’re thinking: “That was fast!” and “Who’s the father?” Stick with me.
We’re three weeks into rehearsals, the second of which I missed because I was in Paris. Everyone is heading into the wings on both sides of the stage to rehearse one of my two favorite songs (cue sarcasm), while I stand there unsure where to go. Thankfully, a precocious little girl lends me an actual hand. It seems they gave out small parts in my absence and I got one: Mom. It doesn’t require me to speak. I don’t even have a name. But if I did, it’d be something like “Snooty Woman with Parasol Who Walks Through Town with Her Little Girl.” There is the aforementioned hand-holding, some mock scolding, and a moment when “we stand touching noses” while singing that exact line, which means I am now very nervous about how my breath smells. (Could you imagine being the weird older lady whose breath stinks??? The horror.)