I’m writing this from the front row of the children’s production of “The Wizard of Oz” at the Firehall Theater in Grand Forks. The lights will dim in 10 minutes and the actors are doing their nightly chant backstage, which goes like this:
One: What time is it?
All: Showtime!
One: What time is it?
All: Showtime!
One: All the dogs in the house?
All: Woof woof woof woof!
One: All the dogs in the house?
All: Woof woof woof woof!
This is the third night of the show, and my third night in the audience. One more time I’ll fill up my punch card and be given the opportunity to understudy an Oz Guard. Last night, I was in charge of manning the concessions stand – and I don’t want to say I did a good job, but I made a $1 tip (well, a guy overpaid by a dollar, probably to get away from me), which I then donated back to the theater. I assume they will put my name in future programs.
I am on my third straight viewing of the Wizard of Oz because Nine is the Mayor of Munchkin City. This is Nine’s first production ever, and what I’ve discovered is that the (v v nice) parents of the more experienced children only go once each weekend to give other family and friends a chance to attend the sold-out run – and because they’re not the daughter of one Robin Silverman, who would eat her child whole if she found out her precious grandchild did not have a parental superfan at every single performance.
Fortunately, I am a SUPERFAN. I’m a fan of the show, and a fan of the C-U-T-E actors, and a fan of the Firehall (75 seats in a restored fire house). And I am a BIG BIG BIG fan of how happy this has made Nine.
As you know, my family is not sporty. What we are is theater-y. My parents met at the theater. My sister became a casting director because of her time in the theater. If you add up the stage productions my dad, mom, and sister have had a hand in, it would be over 250. If you add in my theater credits the number would still be 250 because I have zero acting ability, can’t stay on key, and don’t like building sets. What I lack in actual theater experience I make up for in an encyclopedic knowledge of every Broadway musical ever staged. If a situation unfolds where the scripts for “Phantom of the Opera,” “A Little Night Music,” and “A Chorus Line” go missing simultaneously and they need someone to dictate them word for word, I AM READY. I’ll get into all of the costumes now, just in case.
As a theater-y family, we knows a theater-y person when we sees one – and Nine has always been that person. To be fair, though, everyone else who has ever met Nine has also known he was destined for the stage. I mean, he spent six solid months dressed up as Willy Wonka dancing around the hockey rink with a top hat and cane as he sang songs from the latest movie. It’s not like anyone saw that thought, “Quick, put that kid in robotics and the Boy Scouts; he’s a natural!”
The only person who didn’t believe he was theater-y was Nine. Grand Forks has a children’s theater program called SPA: Summer Performing Arts, and when we (and everyone) suggested he sign up for SPA, he was a hard no.
“I’d be too nervous,” Nine would say, pausing from singing a song from “Matilda” or “Mary Poppins” or “Annie” or whatever his favorite movie musical was at the moment. “I don’t know how to act. I don’t like SPA. And I’m busy that day.”
Finally, this summer, Kyle ignored his excuses and signed him up. Unsurprisingly, Nine LOVED it. He loved it so much that Kyle had to call and ask to sneak him into a second session because he didn’t want it to end. So, when Kyle came across a call for tryouts for “The Wizard of Oz,” he signed him up again. This time, however, Nine was excited.
The tryouts were held on a day when I was out of town for work.
“I’ll take him,” Kyle said.
Kyle’s brothers and dad, by the by, are sporty, not theater-y.
“Remind him to look up and out,” I said. “And project his voice, and think about what he’s saying or singing, and enunciate.”
“I will,” Kyle said, in the same unsure tone I use with him when he tries to explain some obscure hockey thing.
I called Kyle 15 minutes after the audition was over. He sounded worried.
“I don’t know,” Kyle said. “Parents couldn’t go in. He said he did great.” He paused. “There were 200 kids trying out over the two weekends, though.”
“Oh, that’s…good for Grand Forks,” I said in the same worried tone out of concern that this new-found enthusiasm for theater could be popped before it had even been fully inflated.
Later that week, Nine got word that he had been called back for a video audition. He had to memorize the world’s longest monologue and sing “Follow the Yellow Brick Road.” This time, I was available to help him. Or “help” him, as it turned out.
We got the song knocked off right away, but the monologue took a little longer than the one-take Nine wanted because he kept stumbling over one phrase – “You’ll be there to scoop up the little brat and the little brute and bring them both to me!” – and each misstep caused him to become more and more nervous that he’d miss it the next time. With ten minutes to go before the video was due, he burst into tears.
“Don’t cry; this is supposed to be fun, buddy!” Kyle said, peeking in the door.
“Well, I’m not having fun!” Nine sobbed.
After some ace parenting by Kyle, we got the video in on time. Then we went out for ice cream to celebrate auditioning for a show.
“What happens if I don’t get picked?” Nine asked between bites of sprinkles.
“Then you go about your life,” I said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“What happens if I DO get picked?” He said.
He got picked. For the last two months I’ve driven back and forth to the Firehall 9,000 times and performed every part of the Munchkin song and surrounding dialogue (minus the Mayor, of course) roughly 25 billion times. I’m especially good at the Coroner – “As coroner, I must aver, I thoroughly examined her. And she’s not only merely dead; she’s really most sincerely dead.” – if anyone is looking for someone to sing that exact phrase at their corporate retreat or other social function.
On opening night, after the show was over, Nine burst out of the backstage like a little pink-cheeked firework.
“I did it!” He said.
“You sure did, buddy,” I said. “Dad and I are very, very proud of you.”
“I’m very, very proud of me, too,” he said, in earnest.
“Were you nervous?” I asked.
“No, not at all,” he said. “I guess acting is in my soul now.”
The photo above was taken during the Munchkinland song. You may remember the 6th-grader who played Dorothy from a past stack of good news because she just got back from an international tour of “Annie.”
On another note: today is my dad’s birthday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Dad!!
This week on North Dakota Today we talked about Mike and Shelly Rowe, my Nice People of the Week, as well as a Williston home tour to get you in the holiday spirit. (Valley News Live)
Fargo’s Keyoumars Farrahmand evacuated from Afghanistan on his 14th birthday and is now a 4.0 student at South. (Fargo Forum – found from “Oops Only Good News”)
Remember when I talked about the Greater Grand Forks Milk Depot on North Dakota Today? Well, an awesome mom named Madison donated 509 ounces of breastmilk! (North Dakota Today) (Facebook)
Speaking of a giant donation, check out all of the yarn donated to the Grand Forks Public Library! (Facebook)
And in even more Grand Forks news: if you’re looking to help, the Bantam B hockey team is looking for hygiene items for the Northeast Human Service Center. (Facebook)
Fargo students went shopping (at $1 a pop) for gifts for their family at Clara Barton Hawthorne School. (Valley News Live)
The Disabled American Veterans Chapter 4 of Minot presented a check to the Honor Quilts of Valor to help them with supplies. (Minot Daily News)
Live near Williston? You have until Monday to help “Fill a Forgotten Stocking.” (Williston Herald)
North Dakota Nice 
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