Just saying: A knight to remember
I was delighted last year to learn that our 12-year-old grandson was taking up the flute and participating in an acting workshop in anticipation of joining the cast for annual school play. I didn’t pretend that these decisions would be harbingers of an artist’s life, but they seemed like a step in the direction of putting an individual stamp on his personality.
The thought of Max delivering his lines (probably a few words at most) on the stage was thrilling. I asked him if he enjoyed the workshop. He said yes, with his usual solemnity.
I didn’t think much about it until the date of the play’s performance showed up on our calendar. The plan was for Jane and I, Mom and Dad, Mom’s mom and one of Mom’s brothers to schlep to a Quaker middle school in Brooklyn for the big night.
If you only watch a smattering of television you can’t help but be exposed to the endless loop of advertising by Big Pharma. Lots of heart attack and skin-clearing pills, blood pressure and stroke prevention offerings, patches to ameliorate some of the dire consequences of chemo, just to mention a few.
A common narrative thread in many of these ads is the parent who, by dint of one of these medications, is able to attend her kid’s school play. The kid invariably is shown nailing some charming cameo and the mom — it’s usually the mom — smiling beatifically, knowing that she is extremely fortunate to be in the audience.
Luckily, none of our group fell into this category, but I couldn’t help scanning the crowd of parents and grandparents and uncles and aunts and neighbors massed outside the school’s entrance and wondering who, if anyone, among them was in that precise moment. As eager as I was to see Max perform, it paled to the feelings of a theoretical post-chemo survivor in our midst.
The play was “Once Upon a Mattress,” an adaption of “The Princess and the Pea,” which Mom’s brother, a sometime actor, noted was Carol Burnett’s first Broadway role. (“Mattress” is part of a series specifically adapted for youth performers.)
We settled in as the director made some announcements that bounced off my brain as I found myself casually looking for that Post-Chemo Mom. I think I found her.
The curtain opened to an impressive set with two thrones and some castle trappings. I hadn’t inquired of Mom and Dad the exact role Max would play, but it became clear as I gazed at the program.
Max would be in the ensemble of knights, guaranteeing that his lines would be zero. This makes sense for a first-time thespian, since the upperclassmen obviously get the meaty stuff, and so my misplaced anticipation seemed foolhardy.
Along with the ladies-in-waiting, the group of knights showed up right off the bat. And there he was, Max in his knight attire, his longish hair in a ponytail, which threw me off for a nanosecond. He had instantaneously found our row and displayed no emotion of any kind, which was his mien throughout.
The featured players were pretty good, but no one hit it out of the park, Broadway-bound-wise, although one of princesses was quite the ham. The ladies-in-waiting, dressed in pretty satin gowns, did a lot of curtsying, and knights would occasionally break out into some rhythmic arm-and hand-gesturing.
It would be grossly unfair to Max and his fellow knights to say there was not full engagement in their knight-work every single moment, but after following him everywhere he went on stage, it was obvious that their dramatic responsibilities were meager at best.
There was a 15-minute bake-sale at intermission to benefit Broadway Cares, which raises funds to help men, women and children fighting AIDS. We got Max some doughnuts and other goodies to assuage his post-play appetites.
Before we knew it, the play was over, to the thunderous applause one would expect from the parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts and neighbors associated with cast members and back stage crew.
Max showed up without his ponytail, pleased with his dramatic debut, and eagerly accepted the doughnuts and accolades from Mom, Dad, etc.
We were in a swarm of adoring parents and happy cast members. It was my first school play experience and I assume the granddaughters will eventually get into the act, so to speak, especially Zoe, who is quite the diva.
As we divvied up to leave, I inadvertently saw a mom in full elation with a princess and a face awash in tears. The Post-Chemo Mom? It immediately seemed like a cheesy thought and I threw it out.
Just a mom, a princess, and abundant joy.
