A farewell to fond memories

When I was little, if you’d asked me where my dad worked, I probably would have told you he didn’t work, he just went to “the theatre.” While this might have attracted odd looks (and certainly a scoff from my dad), “the theatre” was its own little world amongst that group of familiar places that I knew, along with “the church,” “the grocery store,” and of course “the house.” My sister and I spend Saturdays and Sundays helping my dad and Arlie with set construction. This meant that when we had swept up the sawdust and separated spare nails into “straight” and “crooked” piles, we ran to the dressing rooms to get as gaudily clad as the theatre’s collection would permit, fighting as we went over who got to wear Anastasia’s tiara.

When I was old enough for summer children’s theatre, I was cast in Rapunzel as the pregnant, tantrum-throwing rampion-craving wife. At 8-years old, I had never heard of rampion, didn’t quite understand what it meant to “throw a tantrum,” and certainly couldn’t fathom pregnant cravings, but I dropped to the floor nonetheless, beating my arms and legs and screaming rampion fiercely enough that my pillow belly nearly popped right out. At the time, I and the 30 other kids participating didn’t recognize that we were building self-confidence and gaining a sense of responsibility, but we beamed with pride as we bowed for curtain call, more than a little shocked at our accomplishment.

Now that I'm older, I have developed a more “sophisticated” appreciation of the theatre’s contribution to the community. In 89 productions, the cast and crew have moved audiences to first shake with laughter and then discreetly wipe away tears, at times in the same scene. The theatre has presented classics, musicals, and even a Broadway hit to full-houses in a community that doesn’t boast a movie theatre. But perhaps most importantly, the theatre has created a place where ordinary people come together and use their talents to show how extraordinary they are.

This year, my dad is retiring as director of the Richmond Community Theatre, after founding it 30 years ago. I’ll miss the theatre for many reasons, but most acutely, I’ll miss it for what I loved most from the time I was little girl up until age 23—that the magic world of “the theatre”—the emotion, the surprise, the embarrassment, the discovery—existed comfortably alongside the world of the routine. And by doing so, it made everyday life more magical.