I’m so grateful for my dad and musical theater.

As long ago as I can remember, my dad would put an album on the stereo and play “Name That Tune” with us — long before “Name that Tune” was a tv show. “What show is this from?” he would ask and we’d have to guess in as few measures as possible. I loved that game.

My parents said CAMELOT with Julie Andrews was my first live production, which I don’t remember but I know we wore that album out. I knew all the lyrics and could name the album as soon as the orchestra hit the first note.

In high school, we’d visit Broadway all the time. Either Dad got tickets and we’d all go, or we’d go with the Drama Club, or a few friends and I would hang out at the Half Price Ticket booth trying to get in to see something wonderful.

Not only was disbelief suspended when the show would start, but the difficulties of life would be suspended, too. For a kid whose reality could be hard, literature and musical theater were respite. They gave me hope and metaphors for life. The moment the house lights would dim and that curtain would come up was such a mix of magic and excitement.  It still is.

Thank you, Dad, for that gift.

*Last night, we saw WAITRESS in SF.  The magic was there, of course, and so was key lime pie during intermission. So much to be grateful for.