Your Way

6/10/15

Playlet in one scene for two actors

Father & Son

Curtain is a verismo painting of an old brick wall, battered, burned, interesting.

House goes to black.

A few beats.

Lights gradually come on to a warm glow. A low hanging bulb dimly illuminates the scene.

Two men on bar stools. One is hunched over, aged.

The other, a man in his prime, salt and pepper sideburns.

A few beats.

Slowly, imperceptibly music begins to play. From the black seemingly empty  stage, downstage right, a jukebox emerges in soft light.

Props emerge, Deus ex machina, up through the floorboards, down from the rafters.

The music is now strong enough to discern: Frank Sinatra in a Nelson Riddle arrangement of "My Way."

Emerging, coming together, is Tony's Italian Kitchen. It is December,

1948

Father: (smiling) (age 92, then suddenly the same age as his son)(smile vanishing

All serious

worried

Angry

Impulsive

Extreme )

Are you anything other than a weak, poor imitation of me?

Son: (hurt, but not surprised) I thought you were proud of me.

F: (embarrassed, caught off guard by the child-like innocent, honest, non accusatory response). Of course I am proud of you. (Then getting suddenly angry) Do I have to tell you I love you?! There's something wrong with you if you need my approval every step of the way. And besides: I told you I loved you many times.

S: Yeah that was when you were old and needed me to take care of you.

F: (genuinely contrite) Yes but I did love you. I loved you with all my heart in a way I could never love myself. I have tremendous guilt for not giving you the self-confidence you needed to be a success in life.

S: (simply) Dad, I am successful.

F: (gentle, then suddenly explosive, then caring) Yes you have more money than I had and you manage it better, you married a woman who is your peer, you have a great son, you have a decent job, though to hear you tell it you're not that good at it, you have developed your craft and are still learning.

S: So, what do you mean I am not successful?

F: You know what I mean!

S: (desperately, passionately) No. Dad, tell me exactly what you mean. Your unrelenting standards have driven me crazy my whole life and have trapped me in endless comparisons with everyone and I always come up short. Yes I know I am short. Always those bad jokes intruding - better than my other horrifying intrusive thoughts. You see you make me lose my train of thought. Tell me goddammit: what do you mean I am not a success?

F: Pop, my father always wanted to be a big shot. That's what I wanted for you. Famous, rich, a renowned artist, Mayor, respected, beloved of the people, a prince among men.

S: (simply) I'm sorry I let you down. (Then angry) Did it ever occur to you that you needed me to be what you call successful - a fantasy - so you could feel ok? - to compensate for the bottomless pit, an abyss of bad feeling you had about yourself from your mother - you made me into a narcissistic extension of yourself. And then you gave me the double whammy that when I did super achieve it embarrassed you. You put me down: I was in your words a punk for going out with older girls. You asked if Renee had a real boyfriend. What the fuck did that mean? I actually for once in my life had the guts to ask. You said a lot of girls like older guys. Man, no wonder I'm fucked up. You said I was just like cousin Richard, angry, hurting - did you see my hurt?- arrogant, obnoxious, self-hating, musical, intelligent, self-destructive, self-indulgent. Yet, I love you because you taught me to love nature, and art, to follow my own path, to heal myself, to continually have new possibilities to grow, to be patient and kind to myself when I stop hurting myself. You taught me I could figure things out for myself with the right help along the way. Yes I have been in a rage with you because you took away my best teacher when she hurt your ego. I was 15. I stopped learning well at that time and perhaps have never learned well since. So, you were a good enough parent who I continue to love and love more now that I see you off the pedestal.

F: (smiling) (with a Yiddish accent) You had to make me listen to all that!? Oy.