Growing Pains

Saturday. I have a few things to tell you today, Ms J.

The play went really well last night. It was arguably, the best show we’ve done so far. The entrances and exits were spot on, the light and sound cues were fine, and we actors really seemed to connect with each other, perhaps for the first time. The audience was our biggest yet (about 70 people) and they were quite receptive. I just wish we knew our lines.

Four of us are nearly letter perfect, but the other two still struggle. It makes everyone look bad. The actors who play Clive and Loretta are still missing lines, still fumbling for words. I know they haven’t much experience on stage, but surely to goodness after ten rehearsals and four performances, they should be familiar with the dialogue. The rest of us can do it. Why can’t they?

We have one more show to do tonight. It’s closing night. Of course, I’ll give my best, but I can’t help feeling glad it’s over. That’s unusual for me. Usually, when a play ends its run, I feel a bit blue for a day or two, knowing I’ll never have that same experience again. But not this time. We’ve been meeting since January to put this show together. I’m sick of it. I’m tired of the constant commitment and not being able to plan anything outside of rehearsals and meetings and shows. Mostly though, I’m tired of working with people who don’t know (or care?) what they’re doing.

I take acting fairly seriously, Ms J. I really want to do a good job on stage. And I hate it – well, my ego hates it when lack of skill or commitment on the part of others diminishes the quality of the performance. OK, let me be more precise. My ego hates it when poor acting or missed lines make me look stupid.

Heather is already talking about a sequel. I don’t think I’ll involve myself again with this group unless they find more talented actors. And I won’t make a six month commitment again, either. Lesson learned.

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I came home to Meagan after the show last night. I collected her after school on Friday. She plans to attend tonight’s performance. The weather today is uncomfortably hot and humid. The theatre patrons will be sweltering tonight and pity the poor actors on stage wearing winter coats, hats, and mittens.

Meagan left the computer and came downstairs to chat when I got home. That was nice. She sat cross-legged on the chesterfield and I leaned back in the recliner chair. She asked how the show went and I told her. She was glad it went well, but I could tell she had more on her mind.

“I’m glad you’re here, Scout,” I said. “It’s nice to see you here when I come home.”

“I’m glad I’m here too, Dad. I’m glad to have a break from Mum.”

“Are you and Mum not getting along?” I asked.

“Not lately,” she said and bowed her head slightly to sip from a glass of juice.

I waited a minute hoping she’d offer a bit more detail and when it wasn’t forthcoming, I asked.

“What’s the matter?”

“We just fight all the time. Mum’s never happy. She’s always complaining about the house being dirty but she never cleans up. She leaves everything for me and Dan and Maxine.”

I cautioned her gently against using absolutes like always and never. I suggested often and seldom or rarely. We’ve been down that road before.

“No Dad. I’m telling you, Mum NEVER does housework anymore. She doesn’t even look after Emily. Me and Dan and Maxine look after her. Emily is not our kid, Dad. She’s Mum’s daughter. She’s her responsibility, not ours. And Dan and Maxine have their hands full with baby David.”

I agree completely with Meagan, Ms Journal, but what was I to say? Yes, Scout. Your mother is a lousy parent? I’ve known it for years, but I vowed some time ago, I’d let Dan and Meagan discover that for themselves.

“What does Mum do all day?” I asked. “Is she not feeling well?”

“She’s fine. She spends all her time on the computer. It’s like she’s addicted to MSN and YAHOO. She just sits there in the basement all day, chatting with her friends, helping them solve their problems. The internet doesn’t even work now, and she still sits there staring at it, playing Solitaire or something. She spends so much time analyzing other people’s Lives. She should take a look at her own Life.”

My daughter is perceptive, Ms J. She’s wise, I think, beyond her years. And I’m so relieved and proud that she’s beginning to see her mother as she truly is. Unfortunately, that realization is a painful one.

“When I try to tell her that, she gets all defensive. And then we fight. But she doesn’t fight fair, Dad.”

Meagan was struggling to control her emotions. She was fighting back tears and when she spoke again, her voice was trembling.

“She’s cruel. She says she’s going to get cancer like her mum did and die and it’ll be my fault. She says cancer is caused by stress and I’m giving her too much stress. She won’t stop it, Dad, until I’m crying. I try so hard … “

She was sobbing now and her mascara was running in little black rivulets down her cheeks.

“I try so hard not to cry. It seems like she wants me to cry, but I try not to. I think if I cry, then she wins and if I don’t cry …”

My heart was breaking, Ms J. I wanted to cry too, dammit. I found a tissue and handed it to her.

“I think Mum is really scared right now, Scout. She’s worried about money.”

“I know, Dad. She tells me I should go and get a job but I have so many things to do this summer. Fun things, like Teen Ranch. And Scott wants to take me to Ocean City, Maryland for a week and you said you wanted me to stay here for a week. How can I keep a job and get all that time off? I’m only fourteen. I still want to be a kid.”

She blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes.

“You’re right, Meagan,” I said. “You’re fourteen. This is supposed to be the best time of your Life. You can get a job in the fall, maybe, after school or something. Or you can wait til next summer.”

“You know why our phone is disconnected?” she asked. “Because we have no money to pay the bill, that’s why. And we can’t watch TV either, because our cable’s been turned off. Do you know how much our cable bill is, Dad? Seven hundred dollars.”

I winced. Seven hundred dollars is more than seven months worth of payments. I asked her if she understood how it could get so high and she explained it to my satisfaction. Meagan understands about paying bills and paying them on time. Good for her.

“Would you like to live here, Scout? With me?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Every time we fight, Mum says I should go and live with you. She says we just can’t get along.”

“Then why don’t you?” I asked her.

“Because every time I say I’m going to move here, she starts crying and screaming and going crazy. She tells me about her crappy childhood and how her mother never hugged her and she makes me feel guilty for even thinking about leaving her. She doesn’t even make sense sometimes, Dad. She’s just so emotional. She cries and she won’t stop until we’re both crying. I try not to, but she just hurts me and hurts me until I can’t help it.”

And my girl was sobbing again.

I opened my mouth to speak, and in Truth, I had no idea what I was going to say. Here’s what came out:

“Mummy loves you, Meagan. The real problem, I think, is that she doesn’t love herself. Don’t make that mistake, Honey. Please. Remember I love you. I love you so much, it hurts. But you must also love yourself. Know in your heart that you are beautiful, and special and loveable. This house, this home is yours whenever you want. I will be here to care for you, to love you, and to help you grow. It hurts to grow up, Scout. I know, because I’m still doing it.”

And I held her. And we cried.

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