I do act on the side.
This will be my fourth year going steady. I’m switching to a new instructor, actor extraordinaire and affirmed film dubber (although I hate dubbed movies for the life of me I appreciate the hard work there is behind it and I ADORE his voice [he was Marshall Flinkman in ALIAS, I’ve said it all]) Franco regards groundbreaking theories on the lines of Stanislavskij and focuses his interest on energy, deriving muscular tension and movements. Very fascinating, not to mention life changing approach to Acting, capital “a”, for those in love with the stages of the world, like myself. I’m talking cutting edge stuff that would make Bob DeNiro pee in his pants. And my parents know nothing about it.
They do know I go. But that’s it. Earlier as I got back I hoped once again, to be once again disappointed, that they would be waiting to ask how it went, that they’d be interested. Not a word. I should be used to this by now but I’m actually not.
My parents love me and I love them, and they’ve never had me lack for anything. Except this one little thing. I blame it on their upbringing. We are said to breath our parents in. Theirs were not very good at expressing feelings, also let’s say not the most participative human beings, thus so are mine. It was right after the war when they were growing up and people back then had massive stuff to care for before even thinking of asking their children about their thoughts. But times have changed, we now have that luxury. What makes them not see that? It’s just habits I guess, worse yet character traits, are hard to lose. They probably are a little too conceited in their own bad days, or making plans for the upcoming ones, or just winding down after whatever amount of social activity they can endure, hence what happens around them sometimes fails to ring in. They don’t understand how important it is that they don’t just show me the money, supporting me financially in this endeavor, or in any of my other ones for that matter, but that they also do show me the interest.
Do we ever stop needing our parents’ approval?
It’s frustrating because I recognize a little of that in me too sometimes and I want to eradicate it with all my might. When I have kids I’d rather have some dirtier dishes or one more untaken-care-of crappy mood, but make sure I ask them how their day was every damn time they get back through the front door.
It’s sad because when I win my brush in front of the mirror I never mention them in my thank you speeches for being supportive, I thank them for being enablers. When I wrote my dissertation’s dedication I thanked them for the possibilities they offer me, not for their encouragement.
I feel so much accomplished right at this moment in history, but every time I get back home and my mama doesn’t show that she cares, and she is proud, a little bit of my triumphs are taken away from me.
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