We've Moved!

Hi, everyone...

Thanks for visiting this blog, but our family's adventures moved to a new site in July 2013 — http://glenncook.virb.com/our-reality-show. We hope you will come see us over there!

So Long, Billy

No question, it’s time.

I knew those words would come at some point, so it’s not a shock to the system, but I’m somewhat surprised by how much emotion accompanies them. Our son, Ben, is leaving “Billy Elliot” this weekend; his final show is scheduled for Sunday in Las Vegas.

He’s 15 now and growing, with a deeper speaking voice in a show that tells the story of a pre-pubescent boy who just wants to dance. Like every child that has played Billy before (and after) him, the role has a certain shelf life. The average Billy’s run is 12 to 18 months, with most of the boys starting at age 11; Ben started rehearsals for the role last May at age 14.

But our family’s “Billy” story goes back much farther than that, which I chronicled in a series of posts that started last May. When the curtain falls Sunday, it will be the conclusion of a journey that started 5? years ago with his first audition and almost three years after he debuted as Tall Boy/Posh Boy in the Broadway ensemble. Over the past 19 months, he has been to 45 cities in 25 states and Canada.

It’s a remarkable achievement, especially for a teenage boy.

••••••

Writing is one of my lifelong passions. It allows me to step back, reflect, and process major and minor events. For several years, I have had this blog, and then for several months I wrote the “Stage Dad” column for DC Metro Theater Arts.

Then I just stopped.

Why, you ask? Call it a series of cumulative events. I had a minor health scare, several relatives passed away within a short period of time (my wife’s father, uncle, and aunt; my aunt and cousin), and we faced the usual life/work/family commitments/challenges that come when parents have two careers, three teenagers and one college student.

Shortly after the tour began, we hired Ginno Murphy to be Ben’s guardian, which meant that we didn’t have to employ Sheldon Cooper to develop a cloning device that would allow us to be in two places simultaneously. Using vacation somewhat sparingly, and tagging on stops to a couple of work-related trips meant we could see Ben and Ginno every three to four weeks.

When Ben lived in New York, I was on a train or bus once or twice a week, which gave me opportunities to think and write. For several months, we’ve been so busy moving forward and from side to side that I haven’t taken the time to reflect.

The other night after dinner, my wife and I talked about what this weekend represents. We agreed: It’s time for everyone to move on, but not having our child and this show inextricably linked will be very different. Or as Jill described it, there will be “a void.”

That’s the right word to describe it. And it’s the word that led me to reflect, and start writing again.

••••••

“Billy Elliot,” like the current Broadway hit “Matilda” (also a London import with much of the same creative team), is different from your usual musical. Most shows have a rehearsal period, followed by tech, previews, and then the run. Rehearsals during the run are rare, and usually occur when a major creative change is scheduled or replacement cast members are being put into the show.

That’s not how it works with “Billy,” which rotates four boys in the title role. Because the show is so physically taxing, each does two shows a week and serves as standby for two others. Two boys also share the role of Michael, Billy’s best friend. Billys and, to a lesser extent, Michaels take classes in cardio, ballet, tap, and acrobatics in addition to spending 15 to 20 hours a week in school.

When Ben started with the show, he was cast as Tall Boy/Posh Boy, a member of the ensemble, and performed eight times a week. Over a 15-month period, he racked up more than 500 performances while understudying Michael. The tour, which started in October 2011, gave him an opportunity to perform as Michael and train for Billy, which is somewhat unique because the roles are very different.

On Sunday, he will have totaled more than 640 performances in the show, including 61 as Michael and 71 as Billy. That’s not a record; two of the tour’s Ballet Girls (Madison Barnes and Brionna Trilling) have more than 1,000 performances, and long-serving ensemble members have done many more shows than our son.

Other Billys and Michaels have performed in more shows as well. But with one notable exception — Kylend Hetherington (one of Ben’s best friends) who was Tall Boy, then Michael for a short time, then Billy for two years — our son is the only one in North America who has played all three boy roles for a substantial period.

That speaks to his versatility, and his never-say-quit nature. I think he willed himself to stay short and not go through a voice change until he played Billy. He practiced and turned and practiced and turned deep into more nights than we can count. More than once, my wife and I discussed whether he should quit, only to decide that he had to be allowed to pursue his dream.

Down the line, when Ben has time to reflect on it, even he will see what an accomplishment that is.

••••••

For the past month, the big question we get is, “What’s next?” And my only answer is, “We’ll see.”

That’s not meant as a cop out. The truth is, we don’t know. For now, Ben is going back to New York to finish his ninth-grade year at Professional Performing Arts School, which he loves. Then, he’s back here for the summer and perhaps into the fall and spring.

He wants to continue to dance, sing, and act. Someday he hopes to be part of the Broadway musical “Newsies,” but can’t do that until he turns 16. He’s working on audition songs, making plans to take dance classes, and keeping his fingers crossed that he can stay in New York.

No question, this is a transitional period for Ben. He is officially nestled in the “dead zone,” that period where teens are too old to play children and too young to be out from under the necessary rules that are designed to protect them until they turn 18. It may be weeks or months until he books something, or it could be years.

If nothing bears fruit, then his return to Northern Virginia will be long-term, at least until he and his sisters go on to college. And that will be different for all of us, because he’s been away from our day-to-day home life for almost four years.

Actually, as I think about it, we do know a couple of things.

We know Ben has the work ethic, desire, and love for performing to do whatever it takes to pursue his passion. He’s proven that. And we know it will be good to be back together as a family under the same roof, for whatever length of time that is.

As for the rest, we’ll see.

"Fragile"

The other night, as I left the grocery store in the all-too-familiar rush to get somewhere, I heard Sting's song "Fragile" pour through the speakers.

“On and on and on and on. How fragile we are. How fragile we are…”

Hearing the song — when did I last hear a Sting song, I wondered, especially from his solo career? — made me pause as I watched my daughter walk quickly toward the car.

How fragile we are — indeed.

Jill and I have come to dread this time of year, when the days get shorter, the gap seems impossibly wide between fall and spring sports, and the mundane, day-to-day nature of the school year moves into a high-pitch duet of sharps, flats, and off-key moments in time.

Our oldest daughter, who turns 16 next month, is ADHD/bipolar. For the past two years, the period from November to March has been an unsettled, contentious time in our household, tension always simmering under the surface.

Tension that, like a pot of boiling water, sometimes overflows.

••••••

Writing is my form of therapy. And over the past three years, I’ve written about Kate and the trials she and we have faced many times — in this space and in other places. If anything, this blog is as much about raising her as it is about raising a family of performers.

I haven’t written recently, even though my Facebook friends will attest that I haven’t lacked for things to say. I’ve even started using Twitter, if for no other reason than I can’t seem to focus for more than 140 characters at a time.

I’m definitely the ADD part of Kate – the “H,” if I had it, was squeezed out years ago by parenting and my profession. My gene pool also contributed to her stubborn, dig in your heels, and win-at-all-costs nature of rhetorical discourse, even if that discourse is simply yelling at the top of her lungs. Our arguments feel like they come from some bad sitcom featuring ethnic stereotypes, or a reality show on TLC.

In the end, however, it’s “our reality show,” and fortunately for us, the cameras are not on when these things happen.

••••••

Five random thoughts about parenting:

• Nothing exposes your flaws like being a parent. It’s the single hardest job anyone has.

• Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids – all four of them. And I  can’t believe how quickly time seems to be flying by, especially since they’ve become teenagers. I realize that, in many cases, we’re coming quickly to the end of the adolescent marathon.

• Parenting has taught me about life in a time-suck continuum. Blink and your toddler is a teenager. Blink twice and they’re off to college. (A three-time blink is not recommended, however, because that means your now-grown child will be living on your couch.)

• There are days when I would rather take shelter in a Home Depot than face another parenting problem, and I can’t stand Home Depot.

• I don’t see how President Obama does it. Being the parent to two adolescent girls is enough to turn anyone gray.

••••••

This is the time of year, however, when my flaws are more exposed than ever. The usual stress that the holidays bring, along with the addition of four teens’ birthdays in a single month (December no less), is enough to put anyone on edge. And then
there is “It.”

“It” is our name for the illness, which always lingers but tends to take a long-term sublet in our daughter as soon as the sun starts setting before 6 p.m. I’ve always said that Kate’s implied motto is, “If at first you don’t succeed, try something else…” The always-restless nature of the ADHD child exacerbates that, and puberty has been no help.

“It” is interested in stirring things up, in keeping the family’s mood on a flying trapeze. When her body runs out of energy, or when faced with something too difficult to deal with emotionally, “It” shuts down and takes a brief nap in the middle of a conversation.

“It” is what happens when the days become shorter and less structured, and she starts to run out of options. “It” tells her to stay home from school, to raid the fridge for comfort foods and sugar, to be combative when confronted.

“It” is all about feeding “It.”

••••••

Early on, Jill and I made the conscious decision to be open about parenting and this illness. This summer, representing the American School Counselor Association (where she works), Jill spoke to a group of dance teachers from around the state and country about the dealing with teens with mental health issues. It was a huge success; everyone in the audience appreciated her advocacy and sincerity.

Being open pays other dividends. Over the past couple of years, Kate’s siblings and relatives have become much more sympathetic and understanding as their knowledge has deepened. And we have had conversations with other parents who, like us, find themselves in a quandary about what to do and how to help their child navigate the social and emotional landmines.

We don’t know any more than anyone else, but we can listen and share.

And that’s important, because the day-to-day intensity and lack of stability that this illness nurtures is tough for us as parents. Navigating the teenage years along with the frustrations that build among others and us in dealing with “It” is never easy. How I respond to those frustrations and confrontations is imperfect, even on the best days.

Nowhere am I more flawed or vulnerable than in my role as Kate’s father. But the same can be said for my dealings with Ben, Emma, and Nicholas as well.

How fragile we are. Indeed.

Since I've Been Gone...

It's been a while since I've been here. Sorry about that...

The usual stuff has gotten in the way — school starting, the job, the juggle — along with an unexpected illness that sidelined me for 10 days or so and has continued to linger since. I'll probably write about that at some point (the Facebook posts alone were essays on their own), but for now, I'm flying low for a little while.

I guess it comes down to this: I don't have a compelling desire to feed the beast, as it exists, if all I do is contribute to the noise. So, I hope you'll look at my photos on Facebook (I really should do something on here about photography, my other love) and be patient.

I will be back, I promise...

For now, though, I'd like to leave you with a few videos of the kid performing. I know they bring a smile to my face. I hope they bring one to yours.

First up: Born for Broadway 2012 (click on the link to go to the video).

Then, one from MetroJam earlier this year.

Finally, a video of Ben and Jacob Zelonky performing an impromptu version of "Expressing Yourself" in a Kroger parking lot in Memphis, Tenn.

Stage Dad: The Art of Sacrifice

Being the parent of a child actor comes with a learning curve that has the potential to throw your life into chaos at any point. If you’re not willing to endure the ebbs and flows that come with your new role, don’t take it. There is no sense in making yourself, your child, or other family members miserable.

That said, you will never know if you can do it unless you try.

Three years ago this month, we were in New York, searching for an apartment and watching our son start rehearsals for the Broadway revival of “Ragtime.” My wife and I decided on a combination “what the heck/wait and see” approach to the entire endeavor, knowing that our lives would never be the same.

And they haven’t – not for a moment since.

The first year – as my wife and I readily tell anyone who will listen – was very tough, even as we wiped a number of things off of our parental bucket list in a very short time. We spent the time switching off between our girls in Northern Virginia and taking care of Ben in New York, in essence operating as single parents.

That worked for a time, and then we had to look for other options. When Ben moved into “Billy Elliot,” we hired someone to take care of him for a short time. Then we split time in New York with another family. Then someone lived in the apartment rent free in exchange for making sure Ben made it back and forth to school, rehearsal and the show.

When the tour started, we called on Ben’s cousin, who was looking for a job. Then Ginno, another friend who took care of our son in New York, came on board. Nicholas, my oldest, also has chipped in during his break this summer. Jill and I fly out every few weeks when we can.

The performer’s life, especially when that performer is a child on a national tour, is something of a strange existence for the caregivers. You stay in hotels, board buses and planes, and find a new set of grocery stores, laundromats, and eating establishments every one to three weeks. And all the while, you schlep the child back and forth to rehearsals and the show.

Constantly you find yourself weighing the benefits, the risks, and the costs. On one hand, you have an opportunity to do something for your child that few parents get, to give them the experience of a lifetime at a relatively young age. On the other, you and your child miss having the day to day to day connection that you get by being under the same roof. It takes a lot of trust, a lot of hope, and a lot of juggling.

But really, life is a juggling act. It just depends on how many balls you want to have in the air.

******

Over the past several weeks, while Ben has been in Boston, much of our family time was spent sitting around the television watching the Olympics. It was easy to get caught up in the drama of the games, and that night’s events became a point of conversation each evening.

In part, that’s intentional. Dick Ebersol, NBC’s Olympics guru for the past two decades, says the games are “one of the last events where a whole family can gather around a television set and spend the night together.” That’s one reason ratings were through the roof, even though most of the events were tape delayed.

What I found particularly interesting were the behind-the-scenes stories that focused on the athletes’ personal lives. Bookending each event, it seemed, was a story about parents making tremendous sacrifices for the athletes to pursue their passion. Gaby Douglass’ story, of moving from her home in Virginia Beach to train in Iowa, had particular resonance for us.

For some time, I’ve said that parents of top athletes and working actors have much in common. If anything, we have learned the art of sacrifice.

******

Last year, a friend of mine asked, “Is it wrong to want my child to have the fairytale?”

The reference was to the loss of her son’s team in the semifinals of the local Little League championship. The team had gone undefeated through the season and into the playoffs, only to lose to another squad that had less talent on paper but was peaking at the right time.

Sports and theatre, besides being inherently dramatic, have the fairytale factor in common.

Watching your child deal with a tough loss – either in a game or in an audition -- is heartbreaking because we want them to have that moment in the spotlight. More often than not, we rediscover over and over again that fairytales are just fiction, that “real life” rarely ends the way we would like.

Still, we try. That’s why we buy lottery tickets and compete in contests with little scraps of scratch off cardboard, hoping we’ll be the 1 in 8,373,722 that gets picked. It’s why parents twist and contort schedules and make them look like the intersections of the interstate highway system, just so our children can have opportunities we did not.

We’re very fortunate. Our son is living the fairytale in “Billy Elliot,” but it’s not due to a magic wand. Not by any means.

And we would never have known if we hadn’t tried.

The Saga of Moo-Moo

We’ve all heard the phrase, “You’ll be able to laugh about this someday,” usually in conjunction with “Laughing is better than crying.”

That brings me to “The Saga of Moo-Moo,” a family story that still makes my oldest son steam, my youngest son squirm, and the rest of us shake our heads in bemusement. In honor of the fifth anniversary of my dad’s death, the recent passing of the full moon, and an expensive visit from the travel ghosts/gods, Moo-Moo’s story brings a welcome dose of humor.

Morbid humor, perhaps. But humor nonetheless, with a twist for an ending.

Flashback to five years ago today: The entire family – all six of us – is flying home from my dad’s memorial service. It was a special time, the only opportunity all nine of my parents’ grandchildren have been together, and an exhausting (as you might expect) experience.

At this point, Nicholas is 14, Kate is 10, and the twins are 9. All handled themselves very well throughout the trip, so I should have expected the wheels to fall off at some point. And they did.

••••••

I’ve nicknamed my kids Hansel and Gretel, because everywhere they go they leave a trail. I realize it’s genetic. They get this trait from their father, and I got it from my father, along with his humor. Ben and Nicholas get their sense of humor from me as well.

What follows next wasn’t funny, at least at the time.

We got off the plane at the Baltimore-Washington International Airport and, as usual, did the inventory a little too late. Nicholas realized he’d left his sketchbook on the plane and, more important/catastrophic, a small stuffed red cow he had named “Moo-Moo.”

“Moo-Moo” was one of those last throwbacks to childhood bedtime, the stuffed animal/blanket that you’re never really ready to part with despite your desire to be an adult. In Nicholas’ hormonal teenage eyes, he couldn’t deal with the loss of his grandfather and “Moo-Moo,” too.

So we went to the ticket counter and pled our case to the Southwest attendant, a very nice woman who promised to do whatever she could to help. (Fortunately, this was five years ago, and it was not captured for A&E’s reality show, “Airline.”) She sent someone to look for the stuffed animal.

We waited, and waited. The plane’s takeoff was delayed. Nicholas quickly sketched a “Lost” poster for “Moo-Moo.” The very nice woman patiently took the “Unchecked Article Loss Report.”

At some point in this process, “Moo-Moo” mysteriously appeared. As it turns out, Ben had picked it up and hidden it as we got off the plane. Only after the plane was stopped from taking off did the then 9-year-old realize the joke had gone horribly awry.

We slinked out of the airport, making profuse apologies to the nice (though understandably pissed off) attendant and pointing visual daggers at our youngest son. It was a long, quiet ride home. I thought, in some way, it was my father’s ghost messing with me.

Moo-Moo’s fate would not be mentioned again – until we received a mysterious box almost four years later.

••••••

The box arrived at our home on April 8, 2011 with Nicholas’ sketchbook, the “Lost” poster, the original incident report, and an unsigned letter. Cue the “Dragnet” theme.

“This book was found at BWI Airport by one of my cleaners a few years ago – I put it in a box intending to mail it to you. The address was in the article loss report but the box was inadvertently placed in our storage area. I saw the box and realized it was never mailed – sorry for the mistake. The book has tremendous sentimental value… Thanks.”

Then the P.S.: “I cannot vouch for the cow. Seems like it was never located.”

Jill and I had to smile and shake our heads. We called Nicholas, who was glad to hear about the sketchbook but still seemed to have PTSD from the experience. Later, we told Ben, who remembered the cold ride home and the withering looks from his older brother on that sad night 32 months before.

“Stop! I don’t want to hear about it,” he said.

And then he muttered: “I still have dreams about that cow.”

I thought about the Moo-Moo story again after an almost comical anniversary weekend of travel mishaps. Kate missed her train from North Carolina and took a bus. Nicholas missed a plane from Boston due to weather and had to take another plane the next day to Virginia. Emma left her pillow and blanket at home when she went to a dance camp.

That was all within the space of 72 hours.

Ben was spared somewhat in this travel saga, although being on the road means he has more than his share of stories to tell. And things to leave behind, I’m sure…

Stage Dad: Father & Son

I became a better father when my dad died.

It was five years ago this past week – a lifetime in many respects. Dad had been ill for some time, thanks to a slightly toxic gene pool that forced him to fight a variety of physical maladies for years. My mom spent most of my childhood and a large chunk of my adult life caring for my dad, with a level of devotion that still amazes me.

Watching mom and dad deal with everything was one reason I never thought I would be a parent, let alone one with four children. I saw their sacrifices – even though in my self-centered youth, they may not have seemed like much at the time – and never believed I could do the same.

Of course, growing up in Texas, I didn’t think I would live in the Washington, D.C., area or that I would have a job that would take me to the corners of the U.S. and parts in between. I wistfully dreamed of going to parts unknown – before the reality of business travel kicked in – and never thought it would happen.

I never would have thought it, but it happened.

That brings me back to my dad and to his lasting effect, both in life, but especially in death.

******

This column is about being a stage parent, about the schlepping, trailing, and trolling my wife and I do to keep our traveling troupe of performers, artists, and athletes afloat. But, as I mentioned in my first column, “stage dad” is not what this is about, despite the tight verbiage that appeals to my inner editor.

“Parent” comes first.

Not that it always did. I’m a workaholic in a 12-step program, and to this day it is difficult to resist the temptation to put the job – or the task – first. For the longest time, I wanted to be a success at what I did for a living. I wanted to hit the home run and move as far from my hometown as I could.

And I did. But there were costs. I missed a lot of time with my children – all of them – when they were younger because I was working. I saw my parents less and less when I moved from home.

Until the last two to three years of his life, I did not realize how frail my father was. He had been in poor health for so long that I started to take it for granted. Dad felt bad – all the time.

You could see glimpses of his talent. A visual artist, he could draw anything, although his physical ailments made it tough to measure up to his perfectionist standards. So after an 18-month burst of creativity between my third and fourth grade year, he largely stopped, only picking up a pencil or pen to do a project for my mom or when the muse hit so strongly that he couldn’t resist.

To this day, I live in fear that the creative muse will leave and not return. For me, creativity is a way of focusing the chaos that’s inside my head.

So what happens when you need to give writer’s block an angioplasty?

******

Just in case you’re wondering, it’s been almost three weeks since the last “Stage Dad” column appeared and a month since my son opened in “Billy Elliot” in Louisville, Ky. I’ve had material, but even more, I’ve had convenient excuses.

Thanks to the fine coverage this website gave to the Fringe Festival, for two weeks there really wasn’t much space for a parent’s meanderings about raising a family of performers. And who would read this when they can watch NBC’s tape delays of the Olympics?

I jotted down thoughts, and started writing. And started. And started. I’ve started 10 essays over the past month and finished none. I worried that I had left the muse in Louisville, even after spending a few days with the tour in Madison, Wis., and making plans to visit Ben with our family in Boston.

For several days, I walked around with the lead to this column in my head – pondering what it meant. Is it true that I became a better parent when my dad died?

I think so. If anything, my father’s passing forced me to focus on the time I have with my own children, who are growing up all too quickly and soon will be in positions where calling their parents is not always high on the list (sorry, mom). The time I lost with Nicholas, my oldest son, due to a divorce forced me to realize that missed opportunities result in lifelong regrets.

It’s coincidence, perhaps, that my journey as a stage parent began the fall after my father died, when Ben got his first professional role. During a terribly difficult time, the late night car rides presented an opportunity to spend time with my son while mourning my father. Two years later, when Ben moved to New York for “Ragtime,” Jill or I went with him, essentially becoming single parents for almost a year until a new caregiver arrangement could be established. That forced me to focus on having quality time with all of my kids, because I was no longer in a position to be in the office 12 hours a day.

******

I realized last week that I could not finish this column until after our Boston trip. My mom, who still lives in Texas, decided to come see her grandson, who would be performing on the fifth anniversary of my dad’s death.

It became evident that Boston represented a chance to honor my dad’s memory, because my parents had a great two week trip up there more than a decade ago. My mom, a trouper, constantly recalled the places they had seen and the things they had done.

Several weeks ago, a friend who also lost his father and I talked about childhood memories and their effects on our parenting today. He had returned from a trip back to a place where he had lived when he was 11 or 12, and seemed perplexed that he did not feel the loss of his father more. I mentioned that it’s the same for me.

I miss my dad at times like this past Sunday, when my family saw Ben perform on stage, completely in his element and in total control. I miss him at gatherings, at holidays, at events where I should be able to turn and to see him.

But then, when I think about it, I see my dad every time I look in the mirror, and every time I look at one of my own children. And I know that he’s smiling from his seat in the balcony.

“With me, it’s all or nuthin’…”

Sometimes writing is just torture.  I sit at the computer and watch the cursor blink, type a few words to ensure that my hands still work, then put my finger on the delete button and erase what I’ve just put on the screen.

How can a person go from needing verbal Immodium to having a clogged mind?

What you are reading here is an attempt to belch something out in the hopes that it will clean out the brain drain, so to speak. I’m hoping that writing out my frustrations about writing (sorry for the same word twice in a sentence) will help me return to it sooner rather than later.

One reason I became a writer was I found pleasure in creating something out of nothing. The reason I became an editor was because I never could make any money writing. And my self-editor has taught my inner writer not to publish anything until it’s done.

Remember this: The editor always wins.

Although I have little to no interest in science, I wish I knew how my brain worked, so that I could figure out how to be productive on a more consistent basis. I wish I knew why ideas and fragments of pieces rattle around in my brain. I wish I knew how to get them from mind to paper.

And that’s part of the conundrum. I do know how, except when I don’t. But I can still try, and hope the words come.

Stage Dad: Finally Billy

I still get nervous when I see my children perform. It’s almost a reflex, a parent’s prayer to a higher being that they will enjoy it, that they will do their best, that nothing will go wrong and, if it does, that they’ll get out of it unscathed.

Over the past several years, I’ve seen my four kids perform in school plays, dance recitals, in college concerts, at venues across the country, and on Broadway. The same reflex kicks in every time.

But on June 30, after a tumultuous 18-hour period, storms on the runway flying to Louisville, Ky., four hours of sleep, and 4½ years of waiting/hoping/praying, I was almost too numb to be nervous.

Ben was finally going to be Billy Elliot.

••••••

My wife, Jill, and son, Nicholas, were sitting with me in the center orchestra section in The Kentucky Center for the Performing Arts. Ben’s manager, Linda Townsend, and her companion were on the same row. Also in the theatre were Ben’s road guardian, Ginno Murphy, his tutors, several cast members’ parents, and a number of Billy “super fans” who traveled long distances to see the show.

The night before, Jill and I sat on the runway at National Airport as the huge storm whipped through the greater Washington, D.C. area, leaving 1.2 million people in the area without power and forcing the cancellation of our daughter’s dance recital that was scheduled for that weekend. We took off after sitting on the small USAirways jet for two hours, and did not arrive in Kentucky until almost 2 a.m.

As we were catching a cab to the hotel, my phone rang. It was Ben. He could not sleep. He was nervous. Could I stop in his room when I got there?

I dropped off Jill, who had just finished an 80-hour work week and was at the end of a 20-hour day, in our room and knocked on his door. There was my little boy, now 14 and about to embark on a journey few have dreamed. He wanted to talk – something he shares in common with his dad – and he wanted me to rub his back like I have done thousands of times before when he could not sleep. I happily obliged.

Ben asked which number I was looking forward to the most. I said the finale, when Billy leads the cast in a fabulous tap curtain call. He asked why and I told him simply, “because then you’ll be done.”

After 15 minutes or so, I left and saw Nicholas, Ben’s older half-brother who served as his guardian during the final two weeks of tech rehearsals. Nicholas, now in college and also a talented performer in his own right, did a great job of taking care of his younger brother. The two discovered a deep bond during that two-week period, developing a new-found appreciation for each other.

Flash forward 11 hours. Bleary eyed, we’re sitting in the audience, the resident director has introduced Ben and our family, and the curtain comes up.

He’s on.

••••••

Almost three years before, Jill and I sat in the Neil Simon Theater in New York, with tears in our eyes as the curtain came up in “Ragtime.” Ben was the understudy to Little Boy, a principal character who opens and closes the show, and was performing on the first Saturday night of the Tony-nominated (though much too short-lived) revival.

We held on to each other through every scene, and I don’t think I exhaled until the cast took its final bow. There have been lots of curtain calls since, a few disappointments, and some trying times for our family as we juggle parenting, jobs, and the dreams, hopes, and setbacks of our children.

While he was training, Jill said she would not believe Ben was Billy until she saw it with her own eyes. Now, there he was on stage.

For the Billy character, the first act is relentless as he has some role in every number – “The Stars Look Down,” “Shine,” “Grandma’s Song,” “Solidarity,” “Expressing Yourself,” “The Letter,” “Born to Boogie,” and “Angry Dance.” Act II has fewer numbers but is no less strenuous for Billy, with the “Swan Lake” ballet sequence and the show’s finale, “Electricity.”

I teared up twice. The first time was at the end of “Solidarity,” when the audience sees Billy discovering his talent for dance. After a full day of school and a performance in the “Billy” Broadway company, where he played Tall Boy and understudied Michael, Ben performed the turns endless times in the middle of the night in our New York apartment. Despite our orders to go to bed, he kept pushing himself, working on the perfect turn.

The second was during “Electricity,” the show stopping number at the end of Act II. It was the first song Ben learned from the show and one he practiced relentlessly. He had failed with the song and he had succeeded, and there he was performing it on stage.

In January, when the show closed on Broadway, I stood in the balcony and watched as the four Billys performed the number. At some point, I looked to my left and there stood Stephen Daldry, the show’s original director, a person I met twice. He patted me on the shoulder and winked before leaving. I wonder if he had something in his eye.

As a parent, there is no prouder moment than seeing your child work toward something and succeed. At the end of “Electricity,” Ben received a standing ovation, an amazing show of support from the crowd. We had come full circle.

It was time for the finale, an appropriate end to a perfect beginning. And I wasn’t nervous any more.

Stage Dad: A Certain 'Mindset'

A number of child actors who start their professional careers in the Washington, D.C., area take the same path that my son did, performing in Ford’s Theatre’s “A Christmas Carol.” 

“A Christmas Carol,” like most shows, has a window of time for child performers. Ford’s, for example, casts children ages 5 to 13 and you must be able to fit in the costumes – with minor alterations – that are used from year to year. For kids interested in performing, it is a wonderful opportunity to get a taste for professional theatre, a recognized and solid credit on your resume, and a chance to become acquainted with many of the fine actors who work in the Washington area theatre community.

Ben’s first professional role was playing Tiny Tim on alternating performances – most of the children’s roles are double cast – and he returned to the show the following year in the roles of Urchin and Ignorance. He became great friends with others in the show that he remains in touch with today. This year and next, several of those kids will graduate from high school, a thought that makes me look at my own children and shake my head.

Several of the child alums from the 2006 production are reuniting this spring for “Mindset,” a surrealist rock opera written by Jace Casey. An Arlington resident, Casey workshopped the show with his friends in March and will remount it at the Capital Fringe Festival from July 14-28.

Jace, who turns 17 in August, says the show was largely inspired by “the dead zone” that many child performers face between hitting puberty and turning 18. “Mindset” alternates between reality and an artist’s subconscious as he deals with “themes of fear, self-consciousness, limits, and finally liberation.”

“When I first entered the dead zone, I was completely broken-down and I thought I would never perform again,” Casey says. “But after some convincing from my parents, I decided to treat the dead zone as a time period for training and experimenting with the performing arts … For this run, I cast several professional teen performers who are dealing with the same issue.”

Casey, who has performed in commercials, regional theatre, television and several independent films, developed his first show with friends during his sophomore year in high school. But like many kids who find their passion early, he says he’s “always been writing and making up stories.”

“When I was younger I would put on mock late-night TV shows before bedtime with guests and musical numbers and the whole shebang, so it’s always been there,” he says. “I originally saw creating shows as only a temporary replacement for acting. But now I can’t imagine doing anything but creating shows. I know I’m going to somehow fuse creating with performing for my profession.”

Casey is quick to point to the support his parents have given him throughout the process, saying they’ve “been amazing at following my lead.”

“They're the ones who put me back together and encourage me to keep at it,” he says. “When I was younger, they did everything. They drove me to New York for auditions, signed me up for voice lessons, dealt with agents, etc. But now, I need them more for advice and inspiration.

“I know I’m extremely lucky to have parents that support me to this extent. I seriously can’t imagine pushing myself this far if it weren’t for my mom and dad.”

For more information about “Mindset,” visit www.mindset-onstage.com. The show also has a Kickstarter page at www.kickstarter.com/projects/623101705/mindset-capital-fringe-festival-2012?ref=live

Stage Dad: A Race Against Time

Child actors face an inevitable reality – growing up. And that inevitable reality means they likely will be out of a job.

Think about it: Have you ever wondered why people obviously in their 20s or 30s were playing teens on a movie or your favorite TV show? Close your eyes for a moment, watch the faces flash by, and at the end of the slideshow, look for the dollar signs.

Child actors are a costly proposition, with productions having to provide tutoring – depending on the size of role – and an adult guardian to follow the kids around in the workplace. No question that it’s a necessary protection to prevent kids from being exploited, but the often razor thin line between profitability and loss means that, if producers can pick between hiring a 15-year-old and an 18-year-old to play 15, they’ll choose the latter 99 times out of 100.

That’s why casting notices, especially in theatre, are looking for actors who are under 4 foot, 10 inches. Once you hit puberty, you enter what is called “the dead zone.”

••••••

One of the many challenges of casting a show like “Billy Elliot” is that you must find boys who can dance, sing, and act – and still look and sound like a boy who hasn’t gone through puberty.

“They come into the show knowing it’s a temporary moment in time,” says Nora Brennan, the children’s casting director.

Over the past five years, Brennan has seen thousands of boys as the children’s casting director for the Broadway and touring productions. Sixteen boys played Billy on Broadway and 19 have performed in the role on the two-plus U.S. tours. The average run for a Billy is nine months to a year.

The physical requirements for a Billy are immense: In addition to being on stage in almost every scene during a 2 hour and 45 minute show, the character does ballet, tap, acrobatics in addition to acting and singing, all in a Northern English accent. As a rule, Billys perform two times a week; when they’re not on stage, they are in tutoring, taking dance classes, and rehearsing.

Later this month, our son will be the 20^th tour Billy, which director Stephen Daldry describes as “playing Hamlet while running a marathon.” Andrea McArdle, star of the original “Annie” — another iconic child role — told the New York Times that, “Physically, Billy is way beyond Annie.”

Ben’s first audition for the role was almost five years ago, several months before the Broadway run opened. Every several months, he was called back — a nerve racking experience for him and his parents — and then returned home with advice for ways to improve.

And he did, even as other theatre opportunities came up. Multiple times, our hopes were raised, then no word. As our son became a teen, Billy was the role that perhaps he was destined not to perform.

••••••

In June 2010, Ben was cast as Tall Boy and a Michael understudy — the show has only three roles for older boys — in the Broadway company. For a time, he roomed with one of the Billys (Jacob Clemente) and watched, listened, and learned from the others.

Ironically, it was during the Broadway run that Ben grew into the role, even as we hoped he wouldn’t grow — physically at least — too much. As we watched the other boys cycle through the show, we saw them hit puberty and listened as their voices changed — occasionally painfully.

Last May, he went back for yet another Billy audition and aced it. His dance skills had improved dramatically, especially in ballet, and he was ready. Even though he was growing, it wasn’t too much, and his voice still hasn’t started to change.

But there were more setbacks — the two tours closed, as did the Broadway show — and we wondered again if it was all for naught.

Then we got the news about the new tour, which came through Washington last December and returns to Baltimore during the holiday season this year. Ben was offered a chance to be Michael full-time and train for Billy. Despite an injury earlier this year, he is now actively moving toward the role and is scheduled to be in the show this summer.

Finally.

“We see how he works, what his temperament is like,” Brennan said in 2010 about the boys she ultimately casts in the role. “Is he determined? Does he give up easily? That’s very important. You need an enormous amount of determination and tenacity to go through the whole rehearsal process. It’s not something that’s done easily.”

She’s right about that.

Stage Dad: Four Kids, Four Stars

It’s still somewhat difficult to fathom that I’m the parent of a college student and, in a few months, three high school students. Somewhere along the line, I blinked, and they grew up.

My son, Nicholas, finished his first year of college in May in North Carolina. My daughter Kate will be a sophomore at one high school in Fairfax County and Emma, Ben’s twin, will be a freshman at a different school. And then there is Ben, who will be a freshman at multiple locales across the United States.

Occasionally, like now, I pause to wonder how all of this happened. Where did the time go?

This is a story about the siblings, the ones that have had to learn to adapt with us in this nontraditional world.

••••••

Once the “activities ‘r us” schedule kicks in, parenting multiple children often is a case of divide and conquer – a “who picks up/drops off who when” maze that has no end in sight, but is so close you almost don’t realize it’s passed until it has. Add to that the mystery of having children spread across multiple states, and the divide/conquer dilemma increases exponentially.

Over the past several years, my wife and I have largely divided and conquered thusly: She has the lion’s share of taking care of the girls, and I deal with Ben-related things. I also take the one-day back and up trip to visit Nicholas, who is from a previous marriage.

In reality, it’s a practical matter. My insomniac-addled, vampire-like biorhythms and work schedule – thank you, telecommuting (!) – lend themselves more to the chasing back and forth that is required when you are dealing with a child performer and a son who lives 250 miles away. Jill – the far more pragmatic, rational and organized one in the relationship -- is better equipped to handle the early morning schedule and afternoon schlepping that comes with raising two very different, but active teenage girls.

In parenting Ben, it helps that I’ve never been much of a performer, and that I have no desire — or talent — for the stage. But the performer’s world gets so crazy sometimes that it’s difficult not to become caught up in it.

I’m sure that has had an effect on my other children, and for that, I’m sorry.

••••••

Almost three years ago, just after Ben moved to New York to be in “Ragtime,” I wrote this about the kids on my personal blog (“Our Reality Show”):

At this point in our story, Nicholas, Katharine, and Emma have been relegated — not necessarily because they chose to be — to supporting players in Ben’s reality show. And like all siblings, especially ones that share similar interests in performing, they alternate between supportive and one of the following:

a. Jealous as hell.

b. Proud but not willing to show it.

c. Both A and B.

One of our largest parenting challenges — and believe me, we have a number of those — is striking the appropriate balance in paying attention to each of the four kids. It doesn't help that all basically like and do the same things and are — like all siblings — genetically programmed to compete with each other for time, attention, and, yes, resources.

••••••

Any sibling will tell you: Too much togetherness can be suffocating, no matter how close you are. Conversely, it’s also tough for siblings not to have face-to-face contact for weeks — and in some cases, months — at a time. How all of the kids have evolved and matured is a real testament to them as people, and to us as a family.

Over the past three years, I have watched all four of my kids grow in different ways as they move more deeply into teendom.

Kate, our oldest daughter, has suffered her entire life with the knowledge that twin siblings were born before she turned a year. Emma, Ben’s twin, was hardest hit by the separation, at least initially. When he left for New York at the start of sixth grade, she faced being in her elementary school alone for the first time. And when her sister quit dance, she was the last torchbearer at MFAC.

The move to New York was equally difficult for Nicholas, in large part because his brother was living his dream.

But Nicholas has turned that difficulty into dedication. He made great strides in his first year of college, which ended with him being accepted into Elon University’s BFA acting program and performing with Vital Signs,  a terrific acapella group. What strikes me is how much he has matured this year and how our relationship, left strained at times by the separation and divorce, has evolved.

Emma continues to work diligently in dance, and seeing huge growth in her ability as a production of “Hook” nears later this month. Like Nicholas, she is equally serious about her academics, and is moving into high school on strong footing. She is jealous of her twin — especially so when he meets a celebrity — but no one is more supportive of him.

Kate has moved away from performing, leaving dance as she entered high school and moving into athletics. A terrific visual artist, she is continuing to find her way despite some obstacles that are not of her choosing.

Jill and I are just as proud of each of them as we are of Ben, even though life circumstances make apples-to-apples comparisons impossible. Together, we work to ensure that each child develops and grows at his or her own pace. And we are doing everything we can to give them the opportunities they need as they move forward.

Yes, it’s a juggling act. And yes, I don’t handle it as well as I should sometimes. But in many respects I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Stage Dad: What I Wish I Had Known...

Occasionally, I get questions from others whose children are interested in pursuing a career in the performing arts. Usually, they want to know how to pursue an agent or manager, and what they should expect.

Often I will point them to the BizParentz Foundation (www.bizparentz.org), a California-based nonprofit that provides “education, advocacy, and charitable support to parents and children engaged in the entertainment industry.” The foundation has a wealth of information about child labor laws and regulations as well solid, common sense advice for parents.

But in conversation, I also have developed a list that I’ve titled, “What I wish I had known…”

Here it is:

Simple facts of your new life

This is a job. Just because your child has a manager and/or an agent, their success will not mean less work for you as a parent. If anything, it will mean more. They will not drive/fly/walk/train your child to an audition/callback/rehearsal/show. You are responsible for that.

“Entertainment” is first and foremost a business. Your child may be pursuing this because they love to entertain, but the goal for the producers/production companies ultimately is profitability and sustainability. You could be working on the best project in the world today and be on the unemployment line tomorrow. Be prepared to prepare your child for that inevitability.

Training is a costly – and necessary – proposition. Kids who perform professionally are expected to be able to sing, dance, and act. Not being able to do so is to their disadvantage, and that becomes readily apparent the minute they walk into an audition. So start looking for people who can help you, and be prepared to pay. (Advantage: Training is a tax write off in most cases.)

Auditions

Auditions are tough, no matter how prepared you are.

Look at how your child handles difficult, stressful, and/or trying situations. Do they hate auditions? Are they making progress from one to the next? Are they more comfortable? Do they feel like they’ve learned anything new?

Reality Check #1: Be prepared for disappointment. Know going in that auditions are a crapshoot. Chances are that you won’t get the part nine times out of 10, but all it takes is one.

Audition spaces are not as fancy as they look. If you think auditions and rehearsals are held at beautiful, spacious Park Avenue studios, think again. Don’t let the appearance of the place you are going deceive you; professional shows have been cast or rehearsed in spaces that ordinarily would be classified as dumps. That said, be sure to be on the lookout for troubling signs that your child is not safe or in good hands.

On time means early, even if you have to wait. Chances are pretty good that arriving 15 minutes early means you will have to wait 45 minutes to be called, but it may not. Someone scheduled before you might not show up, and you need to be prepared.

 Reality Check #2: You will drive three hours for five minutes with someone who may or may not give you the time of day. That’s one of your biggest adjustments, given the amount of prep time your child must put into a project.

Arm your child with the tools necessary to be successful. This means headshots, shoes, sheet music, notebooks, water, etc. They need to be prepared for every possible scenario, without being overwhelmed. For parents, wear comfortable clothes and bring a book/e-reader/hobby of choice. You never know when you’ll be stuck for two hours with nothing to do.

 Don’t court distractions. It is natural for young performers, especially novice, nervous ones in a room with other, equally talented kids, to want to show off their skills. Save your best for the audition instead. This goes for parents, too. Don’t spend your time talking about your child’s talents, no matter how multiple and varied they might be.

Reality Check #3: You likely won’t get feedback. Even though you’re dying to know what your child could/should have done better, chances are that you’ll hear nothing. Casting directors, in most cases, simply don’t have or take the time.

That’s my list, but I’ve saved the most important for last: Have fun.

You have a rare opportunity to do something that could end up being amazing (or not). Yes, it’s a rollercoaster, but it has a tremendous upside, so enjoy the ride.

Keep In Touch

Last week, one of our neighbors died from pancreatic cancer. She was so private that only the people closest to her — her immediate family and pastor — knew she had been ill for the past seven months.

The news came as a shock to the neighborhood, which saw its somewhat fragile and itinerant ecosystem shaken. Living close to a military base 15 miles outside Washington, D.C., we are used to seeing For Sale signs pop up every several months as neighbors move away, but no one is prepared for something like this.

No one expects to die at age 49, leaving a teenage child without either of his biological parents. And for the core group of families that has been in the neighborhood since the beginning, losing a charter member is an even deeper cut, especially when you did not know that person had been ill.

••••••

One disadvantage to living in an area that has four seasons is that you rarely see anyone outside from November to March. Smaller children, the thread that is the fabric of suburban neighborhoods, stay inside during inclement (read “cold”) weather.

Except for the holidays, or when it snows/ices, casual neighbors see each other only long enough to wave while walking the dog or getting in or out of the car.  Then another spring rolls around and the kids emerge, taller and with new toys.

Once your kids reach that tween/teen phase, playing outside becomes less important, falling victim to technology and peer groups. With busy lives and crazy run around schedules, you have to make a persistent effort to remain in touch.

The person who passed away is — I can’t bring myself to use the past tense — the first person we saw in the neighborhood. And that was even before our house was completed.

Our Virginia-based children, then 4, 3, and 3, immediately picked up on the fact that one of our neighbors had a child who was around their age. Ben, in particular, was thrilled to see that it was a boy.

For several years, our boys played together regularly. They spoke of each other as brothers. When Ben started acting, his friend’s mom regularly brought her son to his shows. When the boy’s father became ill, he started coming over to our house more and more. On the day of his father’s funeral, he came home with us and stayed for several hours; that Halloween, he went trick or treating with us while his mom remained at home to hand out candy.

About two years after the funeral, Ben moved to New York. By this time, his friend had a new father figure in his life. His mother was glowing and happy. During the spring and summer, they were always outside, working in the yard or playing basketball.

Like many kids, Ben and his friend drifted apart, in part because of distance and in part because of divergent interests. His friend has shot up in height, while Ben has remained relatively small. His friend is consumed by sports — especially basketball. Ben, although he enjoys athletics, obviously is not.

Kate and Emma would see the family down the street occasionally, and comment on how all seemed well. But over the past several months, we saw them less and less.

Today, that 14-year-old boy is without his mother, too.

••••••

There were little signs. She looked thinner when I drove past their house. The boy and his stepfather did not play basketball outside. The impeccably groomed yard started showing signs of wear.

But those little signs did not add up, and the family’s desire for privacy overwhelmed everything else. That’s why the news, sudden for most though months in the making, was such a shock.

Our thoughts — everyone’s thoughts — immediately went to the boy who has lost both of his biological parents. We thought of the kind man who has taken responsibility for a son he never had, and — while grieving on his own — is faced with continuing his wife’s work alone.

On Saturday night, in between trips that prevented us from going to the funeral 90 miles away earlier that day, I stopped by to pay my condolences. What started as a simple hello and goodbye evolved into a 90-minute conversation about faith and loss and hope.

Leaving, I thought of the little things we can look out for and do. Will we see them playing basketball? Will the yard return to its usual impeccable shape? Will the presence of the woman with the unshakable faith always be felt? As the boy enters high school, how can Jill — thanks to her school counseling connections — help and assist with her wonderful, professional and parental touch.

As their friend, I left with the pledge to stop by and check on them, and with the offer to help in any way we can without pressing or pushing.

After all, isn’t that what good neighbors do?

Stage Dad: A Lesson From Dance

Like many parents with school-age children, a standing feature on many of our Saturdays is toting the kids to various lessons. For all of our kids, those precious weekend hours have revolved around one place: a dance studio in Northern Virginia.

Metropolitan Fine Arts Center, or MFAC as it is known, is a non-competitive dance studio that has branched out to offer classes in acting and voice. It also is the recipient of much of our family’s discretionary income over the past eight years.

While the studio’s emphasis is on the kids’ fun and enjoyment, it also is on skill building and performance training. The big picture goal, if kids and their families wish to go for it, is to develop performers who will pursue careers if they wish.

Throughout their elementary school years, all three of our Virginia-based children – Ben, Emma, and Kate – took multiple classes on multiple days and nights at MFAC. They participated in the annual spring production – a melding of the traditional dance recital and a musical theatre show – and summer dance and theatre camps. Nicholas, our oldest son who grew up in North Carolina, saw his passion ignited at a musical theatre camp; now he’s working toward a degree in acting at Elon University.

My wife and I have become friends/acquaintances with a number of the families that are part of our kids’ core group. As Ben started working professionally, most were extremely supportive and a number came to see him in DC-based shows. They’ve also watched out for our daughters, given them rides, and helped us out when we asked. You can tell they seem genuinely proud that “one of our own” is living his dream.

That said, competition is embedded into any extracurricular activity, whether the team or studio competes for trophies or not. And some parents have definitely looked at our son’s pursuit of a professional career with a raised eyebrow, wondering if he was the recipient of favoritism, questioning why we “pushed” our child into a professional life at such a young age, and asking if this experience is “changing him.”

No question that, as a male who sings and dances, Ben has an advantage over females. Girls pursuing careers in the performing arts outnumber boys by a huge ratio, something you can see by peering into any class at MFAC or other dance studio. It is simply harder for girls to break in because of the numbers.

At the same time, the gender advantage also can be a disadvantage, simply because a boy who pursues a passion for dance is considered “different.” And, as diverse and open as Northern Virginia is about a number of things, “different” still is not widely embraced as you would hope, a theme echoed in “Billy Elliot.”

Natural talent and gender advantages would be all for naught, though, without passion and training. As parents, we are very fortunate. Our son – and to varying degrees, the rest of our kids – has passion for his craft in spades. When all the kids are at our house, dinner rapidly morphs into dinner and a show. And I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told Ben to stop doing turns in second in the living room, or feared that Emma would come through the ceiling while working on handstands in her room.

Jill and I have tried to support that passion by giving our kids the opportunities to get proper training. MFAC, for Ben, was a great start. For Emma, his twin, it is a great place to find her passions in life, an outlet and an opportunity for exercise, and a terrific social circle. For his older sister Kate, it remains a mostly fond memory.

When the “Billy Elliot” tour came to the Kennedy Center last December, MFAC supported the show by purchasing 100 tickets for parents and students. By the night of the performance, we had almost 200 people in the audience, many of whom had never seen our son perform professionally.

After the show ended, I saw a couple of people who had openly questioned our choice to allow Ben to pursue work as a professional performer. As he talked to his friends, one told me he looked “so comfortable” on stage. Another said she was glad to see he “hadn’t changed.”

In some respects, those are the best reviews he’s gotten yet.