So, actor Josh Hutcherson totally ruined my Saturday evening. Well, ok, the evening already had a few counts against it. First, I was (and still am) totally sick. Second, it was supposed to have been a family work day, and although my husband and boys pitched in, my To Do list remained depressingly long.
Saturday evening the boys watched a recent remake of Journey to the Center of the Earth, which they loved. When the movie was over, Monkey disappeared into the office to play on the computer, but I flipped through the bonus features. It seemed like a better alternative to getting up. And, well, my eyes were still open. This is how my youngest son came to watch a clip called “Being Josh,” in which a thirteen-year-old Josh Hutcherson takes a camera crew through a day in his life.
Kid arrives at his own trailer with his dog.
Kid goes to makeup.
Kid has an awesome time filming an action scene.
Kid plays with dog.
Kid does school with cool and fun tutor.
Kid plays football on movie lot.
You get the idea. Now I respect Josh Hutcherson (Team Peeta!), and I think he’s a pretty decent actor. But he did not do me any favors by making the life of a child actor look like whoops and giggles!
After we finished the feature, Chunky turned to me, blue eyes wide in his freckled face.
“Mom, I’ve decided I want to be an actor.”
Please, God, I’m sick. I don’t have the energy for this conversation.
“Ok, honey, but acting is really hard work, and you have to love being on stage in front of people. You don’t even seem to enjoy the school music programs.”
“That’s because I get stage fright. I only want to be an actor in movies.”
“It doesn’t usually work that way. You have to start somewhere. You have to like to entertain people. You have to act in school plays and community theater.”
“No, I want to be in movies, and I’ll tell the director not to let any people be around when we’re filming.”
At least he has the ego for it.
Ironically, I suggested children’s theater to Chunky about six months ago, secretly hoping for an outlet to channel Drama Child’s excess emotion. I tried to gently remind Chunky of this as his side of the conversation escalated into hysterics. He wept and wailed, stretched out on the couch with a pillow over his head.
“Why do I have to have stage fright? Stage fright is ruining my life! I just want to be an actor, but I can’t because I don’t want people to see me.”
God, did I mention that I feel like cold, crusty oatmeal?
I launched into the “if you really want it, you have to work hard and overcome obstacles” speech. I told him he could pray and ask God to help him with the stage fright but that God doesn’t usually wave a magic wand. In all likelihood he’d have to work hard and trust God for courage. Why do they never hear the “you may not get what you want” part?
“How long will it take for God to take away my stage fright?”
“I don’t know, honey. Want to talk about how long it’s taking God to give mommy a book contract?”
More histrionics. And Chunky continued his drama fit too. Thankfully, Monkey appeared providing Chunky with a new audience for his great tragedy. Sadly, Monkey was unmoved by the performance.
We eventually got our little thespian calmed down and ready for bed. Yesterday he bounced up and gave me a big hug.
“Mommy, I prayed for God to take away my stage fright and He did. I want to be in theater!”
“That’s great, honey. Maybe now you could pray God will give mommy a contract.”
Heaven knows the wailing on the couch isn’t working. And I refuse to hear the “you may not get what you want” part.
Apparently the apple—while descending with a flourish worthy of a Newton re-enactment—does not fall far from the tree.
*photo by weatherbox
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