Pittsburgh Week Part 2: Nathan

We were signing programs after our 2pm performance at Bethel Park High School, our second-to-last venue on the Pittsburgh week. We were tired, but still eager to meet the kiddies post-show. Lunch had been a spectacular Middle Eastern stew over couscous, and, despite a stage that was about 40 feet wide (we're used to a 24 foot playing space, so imagine all that extra running), the performances went extremely smoothly. Our post-show program signings had become a highlight of the day for us, a nice reminder of precisely why we are doing the show. Plus, they always netted me a stack of "kid quotes," and they gave our crews a head start on tearing down the set.

I had, as usual, stolen the green sharpie for autographing purposes (Leonardo is green-ish, so I like to sign in green) and was seated between Matt (Duck) and Nic (Captain Braidbeard), making up the "boy section" of the autograph table. We'd been through a bunch of girls in fancy dresses, a few boys with eye patches and fake swords, one girl who sang Kristen (Babymouse) a few lyrics from "The Sound of Music" and more than one small child that insisted that Matt "quack" for them. A couple of kids had told me that I didn't scare them, and I convinced a few make a scary face for me so I might have some inspiration, lest Leonardo attempt his child-scaring ways again.

And then a little boy, in a green rugby shirt, sheepishly stepped in front of my section of the table.

First thing, I complimented his shirt color. This got a smile. Then I asked him his name. "Nathan," he whispered. "You were my favorite." I thanked him, asked him if he'd read the book (he had not), asked him if he'd seen a play before (he had not), signed his program and gave him a "high three" (as Leo only has three fingers). His sister followed quickly behind, and soon I was back to more fancy dresses and quacking.

But Nathan wasn't done.

Next thing I knew, he was tottering back towards the table, fingers in mouth, mother in tow, staring right at me. I gave him another wave between programs, and he mumbled quietly, "Your story was my favorite." Nobody comes back twice like this for Leonardo, so I gave him a big thanks and, spotting a newly-purchased copy of Leonardo, the Terrible Monster, offered to sign the book. Nathan looked a little shocked, and went running back into his mother's arms. I figured he'd gotten a little shy, so I gave him a "thumbs up" and a smile, and went back to my green pen.

But Nathan still wasn't done.

As I signed my last program, I spotted Nathan, Mom and Sister in a corner. Nathan was alternating between staring at me, staring at his book and crying. With all the attention diverted my way, I had a feeling I might be the current cause of concern, so I excused myself from the table and headed over to Nathan. When I arrived, I discovered the the problem was the book. Mom explained that Nathan really wanted me to sign his book, but the book was new, so he didn't want anyone to write in it yet. A major dilemma. However, Mom and I came up with a very fitting solution: I signed the inside corner of the cover flap, so that the autograph was there, but could be hidden if Nathan wanted to. Then I gave Nathan a huge "monster hug" and sent him on his way to the football game smiling.

So, why does this story stick with me? Because I was the kid who was completely transfixed by the performance of "A Strega Nona Christmas," my very first play. I was the one who was too shy to say hello the first time I got to meet actors after the show, and was beyond-amazed that a "big boy" was performing on a stage. And I was the one who had (and has) so much respect for books that it would have been a huge crisis to even imagine writing in one. I was Nathan. And knowing that I might have helped spark Nathan's imagination, that I made him think and marvel at a play, that I offered him that glimpse of the joy of creativity and wonder, just like some actor out there did for me over two decades ago, reminds me why I endure the long drives and early calls and hard load-ins. Theater has the ability to change lives, and when you do, the feeling is indescribable.

Call tomorrow: 9am, Days Inn, Frostburg, MD.

Kid Quote of the Day: One particularly brash post-show kid twice told me, "You didn't scare me!" But then, when I offered to sign her program, she went running back to her mother with a shriek.

Adult Quote of the Day: While listening to Patti Lupone sing "Being Alive," Courtney fell back on to her bed and announced, "I'm dead."