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Rob's Diary Entries Diary Navigation: Choose A Diary Entry -------------------- Latest Entry: 11/15/00 -------------------- 11/7/00 11/1/00 10/25/00 10/10/00 10/4/00 9/25/00 9/19/00 9/13/00 9/6/00 8/29/00 8/23/00 8/16/00 8/8/00 8/7/00 8/1/00 7/26/00 7/19/00 7/12/00 7/5/00 6/26/00 6/15/00 6/8/00 5/25/00 5/22/00 -------------------- Rob's Introduction

July 12, 2000

When we were expecting Rowan, other fathers and mothers gave me lots of advice and lots of warnings about how much my life would change. Everyone from my brother Bill to my uncle Bill, from my father to the guy I just met on the "El," had a perspective and an insight. And I think everyone had good things to say, or at least true things, as some of it wasn't terrifically positive.

The most common and also most profound thing I got told was that the change would be monumental and indescribable. Sometimes that meant, "You'll have to give up all that gives you pleasure." And sometimes that meant, "You can't imagine the joy." My aunt Louise said, "You're going to Mars. Everything will be different in ways you can't even imagine now."

I've been a theatre guy since I was about nine. I loved being in the space; rehearsing, or building sets or just hanging out, I didn't mind the time I spent on the stage. In fact that's where I preferred to be. In college, all my friends were in the theatre building, and so was I. The parties started after rehearsals and shows, and we slept in as long and as often as we could get away with it. Of course not having a day job helped. And clearly, so did being teen-age and childless (Jenny and I were dating even then).

After we got married we both learned to appreciate quiet time at home a little more, but while Jenny retired from the theatrical life, I was just starting to direct my own shows. That was the whole point of moving to Chicago. But that was when I was viewing the universe from planet Earth. Now my horizon stretches out over the red planet of parenthood: Mars.

On Mars, theatre sucks. I don't actually mean that. My college roommate and I both helped to found the Billy Goat Experiment Theatre (along with several other people), and it's a lot of fun doing what I think is very interesting original work. What sucks is the tension generated by the conflict between being in a theatre company and being an active parent.

This week we are busting our behinds to open "True Tales From Unreliable Sources," an original piece created by the ensemble. I am designing the set and lights, and I have to be at rehearsal tonight, for the third night in a row. I'll probably need to be there tomorrow as well, and I was there several nights last week. That's simply the nature of the beast, but try telling that to an angry 20-month-old who doesn't understand why she can't see Papa before she goes to bed.

I saw Rowan and Jenny for about an hour yesterday evening. Rowan had been at daycare, Jenny at work, and I at the theatre, all afternoon. When I left for rehearsal yesterday evening, Rowan was watching "Blue's Clues" on the VCR. Jenny says that Rowan cried non-stop from the time the tape ended until about fifteen minutes before I arrived home at 10:45 p.m. After that, I dared not go in to see her, for fear of getting her wound up again. The night before last she fussed and demanded, "Papa," constantly, and Jenny is getting a bit frazzled by this fractious and lonely nightly routine.

Meanwhile, I'm up at the theatre space joking with the company and joining in the mad struggle to get a new play ready for its audience. We are working hard, but we are all together and having fun doing it (most of the time). It's nice to know that I'm missed when I'm gone, but this is too much. I hate to make Jenny and Rowan go through that night after night, and I miss them too. I know I said I have fun at rehearsal, but I miss my little family.

It would be easier if I came home to hear about how much fun they had, and that Rowan never noticed I wasn't there. But then, I wouldn't like hearing that either: That would make me jealous. I just want to have been home in the first place and not need to be told how the evening went.

On Earth, being home was what I did between activities. On Mars, being home has become a vital activity of its own. Since it has become a huge pleasure also, I'm not complaining. Of course, that means I have to look seriously at giving up the outlaw theatre life, and I don't actually mind the prospect all that much. It's all very strange, and who knows how I'll feel when I'm not in the middle of a show, but that's my barometric reading for today.

The weather is weird on Mars, but I think I'm going to like it here.