Our ten-year-old recently auditioned for a community musical production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  As you may recall, he caught the theater bug after performing in the community production of The Wizard of Oz last winter; and, as you also may recall, my family was very excited about this because we are – please read this in an affected accent – “A Theatre [hand flourish] Family.”  My parents met at the Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts; my sister is a casting director; my sister and I habitually speak to each other in musical theater quotes; etcetera, etcetera, [hand flourish], etcetera.

So, naturally, I married a guy who had seen maybe five stage plays, tops, prior to meeting me, and whose interests lay in sports, garages, clay shooting, and peeing outside.

SO, naturally, the parent who has sourced and signed Ten up for his theater classes, booked his auditions, driven him to classes, bought his costumes, and rehearsed his roles has been…Kyle.  Because even though Kyle’s interests lay in sports, garages, clay shooting, and peeing outside, his super-duper-number-one interest is the kids.

[hand flourish]

A couple of months ago, Kyle came to me with the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory flier.

“He needs to prepare a one-minute comedic monologue and a song,” he told me.

“Fabulous,” I said.

“What if he did a monologue from Bad News Bears?”  He asked.  “Without the swears, of course.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said.  “I’ll email my sister and she’ll tell us what to do.”

For the next week, my sister and I went back and forth on the perfect monologue.  She reached out to one of her fellow cast directors who works a lot in young adult comedy.  We pulled dialogue blocks from stage plays and movies.  Finally, we made the decision: he would do a monologue using a conglomeration of the lines spoken by the character “Squints” in the movie, The Sandlot.

“I’ve swum here every summer in my adult life, and every summer, there she is.  Lotion, oilin’, oilin’, lotion, smilin’.  I can’t take this no more!  Move!” I read the printed script to Ten.

“That’s weird,” Ten said.

“No,” I said.  “It’s theater.”

Kyle, who had been sitting quietly nearby scrolling websites about sports, garages, clay shooting, and peeing outside, sniffed.

“How about something like this?”  He asked.  He pulled up an episode of Seinfeld on TV – specifically, “The Marine Biologist,” in which Jerry tells one of their former classmates that George is a marine biologist, which culminates in him having to save a beached whale which has been injured by a golf ball hit by Kramer.  He fast-forwarded to the final scene where the four protagonists sit in the diner.

“The sea was angry that day, my friends,” George said.  “Like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli.  I got about fifty feet out and, suddenly, the great beast appeared before me.  I tell you, he was ten stories high if he was a foot.  As if sensing my presence, he let out a great bellow.  I said, “Easy, big fella!”  And then, as I watched him struggling, I realized that something was obstructing its breathing.  From where I was standing, I could see directly into the eye of the great fish.  Well then, from out of nowhere, a huge tidal wave lifted me, tossed me like a cork, and I found myself right on top of him, face to face with the blowhole.  I could barely see from the waves crashing down upon me, but I knew something was there.  So I reached my hand in, felt around, and pulled out the obstruction.”

He pulls out Kramer’s golf ball.

“Is that a Titleist?”  Kramer asks, sheepishly.

“I PULLED OUT THE OBSTRUCTION,” Ten shouted.  He held an imaginary golf ball up in the air.  “I want to do that for the audition.”

“Okay,” Kyle said.

“Okay,” I sighed.

For the next few weeks, Kyle worked with Ten on his monologue.  For my part, I helped Ten pick out his song – “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile” from Annie – which we determined after discussion with my sister about vocal range, personality, length, confidence in singing it, and all sorts of other theatrical qualifiers that weren’t “because Kyle saw it on TV.”  The day before the audition, Ten performed the monologue in front of a group of our friends at a lunch between hockey practices.  He stumbled over a couple of sections.

“It doesn’t matter,” I thought to myself.  “He will nail his perfectly-planned theatrical song.”

The day of the audition, Kyle took Ten upstairs and helped him pick out “a good audition outfit,” which ended up being a Mario Brothers t-shirt and slicked back hair.  For my part, I made him a peanut butter sandwich.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Ten said, “but I want Dad to take me to my audition.  No offense.”

“No offense taken,” I said, offended.

Three hours later, they returned home.

“How did it go??”  I asked.

“Great!”  Ten said.  “I did the WHOLE speech.  The director said it was the best audition he’d ever seen.”

“Well, terrific!”  I said, not looking at Kyle, who I’m sure was choking back an ‘I told you so’ look.  “How was the song?”

“Oh, I didn’t finish the song,” Ten said, with a wave of his hand.  “I only did the first part.  The director said I didn’t have to do anymore.”

“Well…terrific,” I said, again, not looking at Kyle.

As of this writing, Ten doesn’t know if he made it or not.  It doesn’t matter; his dad is proud of him, his mom is proud of him, his aunt is proud of him, and he got a celebratory cookie, which is where his interest lay that evening.  He has also told every single person he’s encountered – gas station attendants, our neighbor’s mother (thanks for the rhubarb bread, Avis!  It was amazing) – so he’s already a star in his own right, as his mother’s family intended.

[Hand flourish.]

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“The Marine Biologist” episode starts off with Jerry talking about his favorite t-shirt, which he calls “The Golden Boy.” Kyle wanted to name Ten “Sonny” and we joke we should have named him “Sunny” so this felt appropriate.

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This week on North Dakota Today we talked about the community of Hatton, my Nice People of the Week, as well a free farm event for families to learn all about ag. (Valley News Live)

The All Seasons Arena – home to some of the best rink Tacos in a Bag in the state, if you ask me – is in the hands of a 17-year-old. (KFYR TV, Found from “Oops Only Good News”)

The Nome Schoolhouse Inn and Event Center is about to get it’s 15 minutes of fame (well, 16 minutes if you count my segment on them on North Dakota Today). (Fargo Forum)

Here is the briefest of histories of black baseball in North Dakota. (KFYR TV)

Eighteen songs by or about Sitting Bull have been discovered. (KFYR TV)

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