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Yesterday I wrapped a show that I have been working on for three months. It was an amazing show and now it’s over. Yesterday evening I relaxed with my cast as we spent a little more time with one another after our final show - a common tradition in any theatre community. In response to a question on how I felt about the entire process of a theatrical production, I began to reflect on this most recent production.

The entirety of a theatrical production has its ups and downs. The downs don’t keep you down and the ups are limitless. There are an infinite amount of social interactions through the entire production process from first rehearsal to last show. The roller coaster of emotions experienced during a theatrical production is so wild it puts actual theme parks to shame. Those feelings, however, are life changing to any degree, and what you find in the end is a newly formed, temporary group of people formed within a theatre community that share a unique experience in which each person involved is equally important and unique.

On day one of a theatrical production you meet everyone, usually, and go over the script from front to back as a group. This is called a “read through.” The interactions and personalities you are introduced to during that time prepare you for, or at least give you insight to, what to expect during the process. And from those first impressions manifest a group dynamic that only ever exists during that specific production. It’s unique; There never was nor will be another like it. It’s magical; you couldn’t imagine any other way to create this dynamic.

Rehearsals show our true nature; who knows how to be on time? Who’s the diva? Who’s the cast clown? Are they the same person? If so, look out! But in those moments, that’s when things get real. Then things get harder. Attitudes manifest. Peaks and valleys of emotional landscapes are laid out in a way only conceivable by the hands of thespians. But inside, and perhaps in spite of all of this, the group bonds. It grows. It becomes it’s own organism. The group - be it actors, directors, choreographers, stage crew, producers, or designers - unify during this time. I would argue the dynamic is synonymous to a family’s; you never want to let family down.

At the end, we recognize a bitter sweet moment of finality. We take in the good and the bad from through the process. We weigh in our hearts this group’s significance and impact on our lives. New memories have become classic, inside jokes. And undoubtedly there becomes an objective, collective conscience; as if our brains were “on the same wave length,” so to speak. The last show ends. The last bows are given.

But before it’s over, there’s a cast party. The group, the “family,” get together one more time. This time is unlike rehearsals or during the show; It’s unique in that it occurs after these previous interactions. This is when inner-most personalities are revealed, secrets are divulged, and personal truths are expressed in a welcoming atmosphere consisting of familiar, comfortable company.

And as we depart

The last goodbye’s are said as joyful tears are shed.

Walking away is hard today, but soon it will be better.

And all along, we’ll hear a song that echos in our heart.

We’ll think again on our time back then, and know it’s always with us.

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Inspiration find me

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You cannot affect change in a system from without.

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Fatherhood

I have noted that I strive to be “a half-decent father”. The keyword being “strive”. When I say strive, I mean that I do not easily take on the responsibility of fatherhood; fatherhood does not come naturally to me. I would be a fool to assume I am alone in this thought. Motherhood, for the sake of argument, does not come easily to most mothers; Postpartum Depression (PPD) exists for potentially all parties involved in the process of preparing for, and ultimately delivering life into the world for which they are now primarily, if not wholly, responsible. Extending PPD past the traditional sense (into adoption, for example) is beyond the scope of this dialogue. The roles and responsibilities of fatherhood are greatly subjective and due, in part, to one’s cultural background.

My foundations in fatherhood were tainted from an early age. The only fatherly figure I had was my father. My father inherited his father’s parenting style: distant, strong, and a tad bit totalitarian. In this, my childhood education in the roles and responsibilities of parenting and, specifically, fatherhood, boiled down to a provincialist outlook; my grandmother and grandfather raised my father in rural, mid-twentieth-century Texas. My father being an only child, and having a non-existent extended family, excluded him from experiences others may gain with younger siblings or a fuller family. Furthermore, during and after military service, my father had three sons. By his own account, he left his children and their mother and traveled the country alone for some time. In retrospect, I would attribute his actions as the result of PPD. That PPD, in conjunction with medically diagnosed PTSD, and his limited view of paternal duty, lead him, or influenced him, to make the decisions he did. As a child, knowing these facts and hearing these stories instilled in me a goal to raise a happy family despite my potentially inevitable destiny.

Those learned and inherited, fundamental and societal character flaws, which I strove most to deter, ended up consuming me in the end. My incessant need to control every bit of my children’s and wife’s lives to prevent ending up like my father ironically lead down a path almost identical to his. Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy if you like. And even though the minute details of my father’s personal life are left as a mystery to me, I can deduce from my own experiences what kind of person he used to be. However, in this sense, I was a victim of my father’s upbringing, and personal details are just that: personal.

But when does the disclosure of a father’s personal history become necessary to the offspring? Perhaps when that history can enable a child to learn from, and avoid the consequences of, actions the father has already carried out. Had I some insight into my father’s past beyond vague storytelling, perhaps I would struggle less to adjust my position on parenting. And while I am fully aware that a multitude of factors can, and have, influenced me in various ways, I can say with certainty that the majority of my initial beliefs resides in the unconscious perception I had created due largely in part to what I knew a father to be. Nevertheless, and better late than never, I have come to recognize the lens through which I view fatherhood and the potential factors that influenced it. With this, I can begin to take the necessary steps to reconstruct my idea of “fatherhood.” I can begin to recognize what I perceive as negative parental practices and adjust these according to a sense of what I would call “ethical parenting.”

I believe moral and ethical paternal duty surpasses any negative parental roadmaps we may have been ingrained with. The application of ethical paternal duty is how I conduct myself with my children, and how I operate my life when considering their well-being, ultimately culminating in a holistic shift in perception of what being a father means to me.

What do you think?

Whether you are a parent or not, what does being a father mean to you?

What do you feel is the role of the father in your culture?

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Hello, reader; my friend.

I have not written publicly for some time. I could blame COVID-19 and say that isolation has driven me away from public scrutiny, or how busy I believe my life is with work, school, and being a half-decent father, but the fact is I do not make enough time for writing. I write personally and privately; I keep journals, create outlines for short stories, and attempt sonnets when the feeling strikes. None of these are, necessarily, for public consumption. Writing in consideration of, or regarding, others have never been a primary focus of mine. This is something I would like to change about myself.

I do not engage in social media the way I used to, or to the degree in which most of my peers do. I do not take part in Internet discussions or post my thoughts on current events online. But perhaps I should. Perhaps I have been living under a proverbial rock for too long and should strive to interact more. After all, I believe knowledge, in every sense of the word, should regularly be shared and if the need arises, debated eloquently. Recently, I have been contemplating politics and philosophy, and my role as an individual in these areas. I feel a moral obligation to involve others outside my circle of concern, or my immediate society, in the discussion of these topics, for, in my opinion, diverse, intellectual thought is a prerequisite to growth and change in any society.

I will make more of an effort to take the time to engage with others, be it online or otherwise. In this, I would encourage you to contact me with your thoughts about my writing, what those words say to you as an individual, and how you may (or may not) perceive my dialogues within the context of your cultural identity – accompanied by your perception of culture and your identity in that culture, if applicable. By understanding your thoughts in this context, I can begin to better conceptualize our current state of humanity, inclusive of cultural differences, and reflect that in my own philosophical and political ideologies and dialogues. 

Thank you,

Daniel

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And now, for my first post...

To get the ball rolling on my personal Tumblr, I wanted to do something I like to do best: Write randomly and see where it goes. To this end, I will choose a gif as my prompt and write whatever comes to mind when thinking about it. I hope you enjoy.

Amy was already upset with herself for only making salutatorian, and her boyfriend's question didn’t avail her dismayed attitude. Amy and Tyler had been together all through high school; their fairy-tale, Hallmark romance was the envy of their fellow, forlorn classmates. But when Tyler asked Amy to join him on an inter-continental road-trip with his band, she vehemently declined. Amy already had her doubts about Tyler’s post-graduation plans, she just didn’t expect him to ask her to be his groupie.

“Amy, I’m not asking you to be my ‘groupie’.” Tyler pleads. "I’m asking you to stick with me. I love you.” Tyler’s emerald green eyes filled with desperation. Amy was quite familiar with his tactics and would not be fooled.

“Yeah, I know you love me. But I have plans to go to college. I can’t waste my time helping you chase your dream.”

Tyler’s narrow face warps into a shriveled scowl. “Waste your time? College is a waste of time!”

Rolling her eyes, Amy lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m not going to argue with you about this.” She leaves the taco stand she and Tyler were waiting near, her short stature covers little ground as she moves.

“Amy!” Tyler calls after her, reluctantly leaving their place in line to give chase. “Amy, please, I’m sorry. Please stop.” Catching up, he grabs at her delicate arm. Amy shakes off his grip, spinning around to face the dark-haired boy.

“Don’t grab me like that!” Her blue eyes stare daggers into Tyler’s soul. “And I already said I’m not going to argue with you about this.”

“I know, I know,” Tyler begs. “But if you just give it a try, it’s not so bad! Ronnie’s girl is coming too, so you’ll have a friend.”

Amy’s nostrils flare at the indelicate words her soon-to-be-ex produced from his mouth hole. “Are you kidding me? You clearly don’t understand me at all!” She turns to walk away once again, her brown locks flipping over her thin shoulders. Before going too far, she turns back around. “Oh, and good luck on your little road trip. I’m sure playing lead banjo in a ska band will really catapult your career.”

Tyler’s downtrodden demeanor leaves him frozen. “It’s bluegrass, not ska.” He whimpers.

“Whatever it is, I hate it!” Amy shouts as she turns and storms away.

Surrounded by half his graduation class – who's watching the scene play out with bated breath – Tyler is left bereft by Amy’s departure. Tyler’s friend Ronnie walks up to him, placing his arm over Tyler’s shoulders in comfort. “I’m sorry man. That sucks.”

Tyler looks to the ground in defeat. “You know what sucks the most?” He begins choking back tears. “I was going to ask her to - to - -”

“Aw man, Ty. You were going to propose to her!” Ronnie brings Tyler into him for a hug. “I’m so sorry bro.”

Tyler reciprocates the hug, sobbing on his friend’s shoulder. “To let me name my banjo after her.” Tyler’s grip on Ronnie grows stronger as he falls deeper into his emotional break-down.

Not wanting to make things worse, Ronnie pats Tyler on the back. “It’s going to be okay, bro. It’s going to be okay.”