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I’ve been doing theatre for a long time. My first play was the 7th grade production of Julius Caeser, in which I played Strato and held my dagger while Brutus ran onto it. I had one line. “Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord.” I came out for one other scene, if I remember right. And I hardly remember anything else about the production, except Megan teaching me how to draw horses, Rachel telling people that she had been in movies/TV shows, and Mr. Talcott, the crotchety band teacher adding some music to the show.

I’ve been doing theatre a long time. Almost 20 years. A few of those years, I only did 1 or 2 shows. Some years, I worked on probably 10 shows in some capacity. I’ve been doing this a long time.

My estimation is that I’ve probably been involved with around 100 shows in some way. In all that time, I can count on my two hands the amount of experiences that I’ve absolutely LOVED. That’s a relatively small amount.

So why do I keep doing it?

It’s not for the money. My latest show bought me some furniture from Ikea and is helping me to pay off some bills, but it’s nothing substantial.

It’s not for the attention I get. I HATE getting attention. I hate being in front of groups of people without a script of someone else’s words. I hate meet and greets after I’m in a show. That’s probably the ONLY thing I don’t love about being in a show at the Hale.

It’s not for the friends I make. Okay, maybe that’s part of it. Some of my best friends are friends I met through the theatre. And honestly, if I hadn’t been doing theatre, I never would have met Lauren. Okay. That’s a big part of it.

The biggest reason I do theatre is because I have a story to tell. All the time. It’s not my story – at least not in my own words. It’s my story through someone else’s words. It’s my chance to take a story which may or may not be a great story to tell, and infuse it with my ideas. My style. My life.

Some of the most fulfilling projects I’ve ever done have been from the last few years. I’m getting pickier in my old age. I used to take any job, because I was a theatre whore (when you’re single and you’re making a decent amount directing and/or music directing multiple shows at the same time, it can very easily be about the money). Since I got married, I have a much higher criteria for accepting jobs, because I don’t want to be away from home if it’s not a project I’m going to love or have a major connection to the material.

My current show, Little Shop of Horrors, is one of those shows that I’ve absolutely loved. As I directed it, I tried to make it personal. From a religious standpoint, I focused on the redemption of one character and the fall from grace of another. I can relate to both.

Last year at this time, I did Little Women, and I focused on the bond between siblings and especially the devastation of losing one. It was incredibly therapeutic, coming just after the 4th anniversary of my brother’s death. I cried or nearly cried every night when Beth died.

Also last year, I did Seussical. As the character of Horton, I related to being an outcast who desperately wanted somebody to believe in him. I related to looking for love and not seeing it right in front of my face. And I related at the time to not knowing how to be a father (although, if I were to do the show again, I’d have A LOT more experience to pull from).

I’ve had other great experiences in the last few years, and I’ve had some TERRIBLE experiences in the last few years. Even Little Shop, which has been an amazing experience, had some REALLY rough times, and some people within the theatrical organization seemed to be out to get me. But gosh darnit, I prevailed, and the story was told. The Wizard of Oz, earlier this year, was such a bad experience that I was ready to swear off theatre. I’m glad I didn’t. For every Oz, there’s a Little Shop. For every Pinocchio, there’s a Secret Garden.

I don’t believe in theatre for the sake of entertainment. I disliked Wicked and The Lion King when I saw them on Broadway, because they were all about spectacle. There was no heart. No story. Just big puppets and special effects.

I believe in theatre for the sake of art, and art, to me, creates thought. After seeing In the Heights on Broadway, I couldn’t stop thinking about leaving my childhood behind and missing my Grandma. After seeing White Christmas, I reflected back on the great holidays I’d spent with family, and looked forward to the new ones I’d spent with Lauren. After seeing Mary Poppins, I vowed to be a good father, should I ever have a family of my own. After seeing South Pacific, I reflected back on the racial prejudices of my own upbringing and determined to never revert back to thinking certain behaviors and attitudes were okay.

And that’s what theatre is all about, Charlie Brown.

It’s not about “oh my gosh, she actually FLEW up over the stage!” It’s about relating to somebody feeling so free that they could fly.

As soon as Little Shop closes, I’m planning to take a break. A needed, deserved break. I’m going to focus on the next stories I have to tell, and the new audience of one. And she’ll love it. And we’ll have so much fun, but we’ll learn, and we’ll grow together. But I’ll be back. And then I’ll have more stories.