PlayIsTheWork.com

For reasons too complicated to explain in this blog, my ten-year-old daughter has recently been offered a chance to audition for a network TV pilot. The way this opportunity came to us was rushed, requiring instant action. Download the lines, have her read them in front of the dv camera, and overnight them to the casting people.

Okay…

Obviously, the chances of her getting the role are slim. But (oddly, it seems to me now), I didn’t agonize over auditioning. And then I spoke to her grandmother, who said, “Well, you don’t want her to have that life,” and I panicked. We mothers and fathers love to think that we simply provide the food and water and the kids will find their own way. Certainly, that was how my progressive parents raised me. When I asked my child if she wanted to audition, she said “sure”. She and I have worked on plays before, me as writer/director, her as ensemble actress. It’s natural for us.

But this is a big deal, a potential network TV show, a recurring role. I’m not writing this to ask what happens to her ego if she doesn’t get it. Nothing will happen, she hardly registered the moment and she hasn’t asked about it since. Chances are, she won’t ask.

But what if, as her grandmother puts is, she’s offered “that life”. What do you choose for your kid, if such an opportunity arises? I could decide for her, based on what I know about the life of child stars. Trouble is, I know enough that it’s not an easy decision. My friend Josh had a rotten childhood as a successful actor. My friend Rachel enjoyed the experience, and the ensuing financial freedom it offered. Both of them have attended stellar universities and gone on to lead lives not any more confused or miserable than the rest of us — though they themselves have little basis for comparison. Each of us, when we’re young, think our misery is unique.

And then there’s the up side. The chance to learn, to be part of a cultural phenomenon, to act in a purely creative fashion that other people value. Surely my precious girl ought to at least have a shot at that chance, shouldn’t she?

My friend who competed at the highest level as an ice skater doesn’t want that for her daughter. She sees judgement and rejection at every turn. She’s probably right. I have no desire to be a stage mom, to drive around the dusty roads of the San Fernando Valley looking for cattle calls, getting to know the moms of the competition, looking for soothing things to say to numb the pain of not getting cast.

But I do respect the art form. Raised on Seattle theatre and reared in Seattle Indy movies, even twenty years in and around Hollywood haven’t made me abandon my love for stories. As an unhappy, lonely kid, movies were a lifeline for me. Television was a soothing babysitter on countless quiet, lonely afternoons. I have friends who have restricted all TV for their kids, but I would feel like a hypocrite doing so. I rarely watch it, but I do respect its power.

Having said that, I saw Josh, ten or so years old, emoting his heart out in the rankest, nastiest after-school-special, circa 1985, on some insane cable rerun late the other night. He might be right that his youth was misspent. On the other hand, he’s one of the most brilliant writers I have ever read, went to Yale and Iowa, and has a fantastic future ahead of him as far as I can tell. I spent my sad childhood watching TV. Josh spent his making it. Which would I want for my kid?

The anguish I’m feeling is less about the worth of being an actress than it is about moi, myelf, and the role I have to play here. As the parent of this girl, I am in the position to pursue or deny this, as well as many other opportunities. All parents face this awesome task. What is the point of music lessons, tutors, enrichment of any kind? To give our kids the best chance in life. To make sure they have all opportunities open for them.

So what’s a potential stage mom to do, when the camera comes knocking? I’m hedging my bets. If she really, really wants to do something, I’ll make the calls, drive the drive, run the lines. But even at ten, she has to be the one powering the machine. I’ll protect her from all harm, any rejection, whatever negativity they might choose to throw her way. But if she gets a part in a TV show?

I guess we’ll be exploring that opportunity together. And if when she’s 25, as has happened to some girls I know, she wants a career in show business, I can honestly say that I’ve done my part and the rest is up to her.

But boy, was this part of mothering not in the manual.

Posted on March 7th, 2006 by MomStar
Filed under: Uncategorized, The Urban Parent