It's Easter: I'm at The Cripple of Inishmaan. 1st row. Broadway premiere. In a moment of reflection I laughed: I'm not supposed to be here!!
I grew up in South Florida, no theatre ed, nobody in the arts, no summer camps, no artist mentors or examples. I read and re-read encyclopedia volumes for fun on the weekend, used my teddy bears to stage political debates on my bedroom floor, and only watched 2 plays until I was freshman at Northwestern: a community college production of "Dreamgirls" my parents took me to when I was 6, and a traveling show of "Midsummer Night's Dream" our school drove my 3rd grade class to one afternoon.
I was forced to write fiction to pass a radio production class. It was a joke to me. I penned the script in studio, played most of the voices, edited it together, grabbed my Outkast "Aquemini" CD and slapped in some music. I amused myself in blending hip hop with a comedic soap opera, along with a faux radio commercial where two angels in heaven have a conversation about erectile dysfunction (a year before Viagra hit the market).
Over a decade later I'm here in the NYC theatre community, watching Broadway premieres, working as a paid writer/producer for web videos, blessed with many brilliant friends, getting shows put up, and having a chance to see the best. History and logic would indicate that I'm not supposed to be here. But the long unwinding path of proof some times contradicts what is and isn't supposed to be. To misquote The Last Poets, 'the resurrection will not be televised.' It will be lived and made evident to misbelievers like me. I'm grateful for being doubtful. It makes the joy that much sweeter. After all these Easters in the arts, I'm glad to see something else besides what the world supposed for me and my kind.
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