Childhood Direction.

It is the most wonderful time of the year. To me that sentence makes sense by substituting the old English word wonderful (meaning full of wonder, awesome, splendid, shiny) with the modern word meaning pathologically over-scheduled.

For me this takes special meaning as I have just finished three months of preparing a large production for Christmas. After dozens of repetitions I now have facial ticks when I hear certain Christmas songs. It's special though because as soon as people saw it they said "Great Job" followed shortly by "What's next."

I'm a director at our Church. This means I pretend to be important and know what I'm doing, I boss everyone around in some hope that I'll be able to make a success of the endeavor. Really it's like parenting, senior management, or politics.

For me it is important as I try to communicate my artistic vision that no one interrupt me. Otherwise they won't fall for it and they'll know I'm making it all up as I go along.

I'd heard that you are never to work with kids or animals. I know why now. I have worked with my own children, and they are animals.

Most of my actors have a deep respect for my authority because they know it is the facade holding back my fragile emotional state. If you don't want to clean up the mess, don't poke the water balloon (which technically I am, except the balloon skin is made of, well, skin).

My children on the other hand have made a life long practice of pushing daddy to the point of gibbering and drooling in a fit of anger or laughter. And so since this month doesn't have enough family dysfunction I have my older daughter in the play for Christmas Eve.

The script is brilliant, written by a close friend and I am enjoying the artistic freedom given to me. The actors have been great to follow direction and offer ideas when prompted. Except my kid.

Me: Ok, I want all of you to show fear. Think of something scary, like fish. I don't know, fish frighten me. So do Tyrannosaurs. Try this, a MER-Tyrannosaur. Then scream and run for the fire exit.
Her: I think they should be happy. It says so in the script.
Me: DARLING, let me direct.
Her: Ok.
Me: Fine, so then the Batmobile will come in stage right, driven by a Caveman...
Her: (To the other actors) You guys be happy.
Me: NO! No. Ok. You all be scared, you (pointing at my daughter) be VERY scared of the angry director who can take away your Chronicles of Narnia cds.

There you have it. Don't bring your work home and don't work with your family. I think I'll use this philosophy on doing the dishes...