Lonzie, Moochie’s sister, was just home from England, where she’d been studying with her college acting class for a few months. On the spur of the moment, we all decided to drive into the city and see what half-price tickets were available for a Sunday musical.
It’s not like we went in with the express purpose of introducing our kindergartner to the art of drag; I wasn’t planning to see if LeapFrog made a Tag version of Sontag’s Notes on Camp or anything. It just sort of happened.
Billy Elliot had no seats available, The Lion King didn’t do half-price tickets, and The Addams Family was supposed to suck. I’d seen La Cage before, and
nervously hoped knew I could give my daughter an overview of the plot so she wouldn’t drive us all nuts with questions during the production.
Except for a handful of drag queens, the story is very homespun and traditional, and thus, made for a pretty straight-forward (no pun) lesson in tolerance — a feel good, clap along morality play that actually elicited fewer questions than did the local performance of Annie we saw a few weeks back.
So we went, we clapped and applauded, and a drag queen from the show told my daughter that she was beautiful. All in all, a lovely day at the thea–tah was had by all — Phin, Lonzie, me, Mooch and the friend she smuggled in with her:
Was it the first hot pink teddy bear to ever attend a performance of the show? Who knows? If it had been Glengarry Glen Ross, I’d have put my money on “yes.” Then again, I wouldn’t have brought five-year-old Mooch to see a Mamet show.
That’s not responsible parenting.