Bring Your Son To Work Day and the Actor

The day was so hectic, I have no idea if I signed some kind of confidentiality agreement, but whether I did or not, I would never talk about the script itself, the scene itself, the jokes themselves. Because why the hell would I want to give anything away? Jokes aren’t as much fun if you know they’re coming. Why anyone would want to know what is coming in their entertainment is beyond me, but best I can guess it must have something to do with our human desire to control something–anything–in a life where most everything is out of our control. But whatever, there will be no spoilers here.

This is just your basic, run-of-the-mill behind-the-scenes type of deal here. And it isn’t one of my usual horror stories, just to warn you. It won’t be that funny or sardonic. Because once in a while, even a guy like me has a good show biz story. And why shouldn’t I, dammit?

First of all I need to mention that due to a lack of funds, my son went to no daycare or camps during his summer break. My wife taught summer school to make ends meet, so I was stay-at-home dad, except that I have this bit-player acting career I have to maintain. (And no, I never intended to be a bit player for so long, doing small guest star roles and commercials for fifteen years. Am I grateful? Yeah, I guess, sure. To make any kind of living as an actor is some kind of miracle, or so I’m told.) Sometimes I would be able to wrangle a playdate for my son and leave him at a friend’s house for a few hours while I drove over the hill to read a line or two or sometimes even seven for a casting director or producers or whoever. But when I couldn’t work that out (and yes, I would ask my wife to help with logistics and she would usually be helpful although sometimes she didn’t want to deal with my scheduling problems because she had her own) I would have to take him with me. He is pretty good with auditions, and will sit quietly and watch in the room while I do my thing, and he usually tells me what he thought was really funny about my performances. Until the other day, all he saw me audition for was commercials. Commercial casting folk are very understanding about parents bringing their kids with them because most commercial actors are scrappers and struggling to get by and don’t have nannies and staff members on hand like a lot of more successful actors. So generally I try to find him somewhere else for him to be when I have a theatrical audition.

But then last Tuesday, a day I thought free of appointments, I got a call at 9:15 in the morning asking that I get to an audition for a one-day guest star on a half hour comedy. (It’s called “The Exes” and will air on TVLand this fall.) Apparently, the writers were having a hard time making this particular scene funny, and in a last-minute rewrite added a stranger into the scene to give it comedic punch. This was the part I was auditioning for. But I had my son, and there wasn’t anywhere near enough time for me to get ready, prepare the sides, find somewhere for him to hang out, and get to the audition on time. The other catch was that the job shot that afternoon, so if I got the part I would actually stay on the lot right after the audition and go to work. I tried to wrangle it all in my head for a few minutes, and finally had to say to my agent that there was no way I could do it unless they were willing to let me bring my boy along. My agent called the casting director, and a few minutes later called me and said that they would try to work something out if I got the job.

So I got showered up and dressed and looked over the sides (not enough prep time, really, but it was all I could do) and got my son’s stuff together and got him in the car and got to the audition right on time. There were maybe seven other last-minute guys auditioning for the role (I wonder how many more just couldn’t make it.) My son accompanied me into the room for my first read, sat quietly and dutifully on the couch (impressive for a five-year-old, I think,) and I did the scene, not thinking about the cursing in the last line (nothing hardcore, it is commercial television, after all) and when I was done, the casting director apologized to him for the bad language. I explained that he is very good about not using bad language as my wife and I have taught him that it can be offensive to some people. Of course, I couldn’t help but think that everyone in the room must think I am a shitty parent for exposing him to such nastiness.

Anyway, we then went down to the waiting room while they read more guys, my son played Angry Birds on my iPhone, and I stared blankly into space secretly hoping that I wouldn’t get the job because I didn’t want to have to hassle with a five-year-old’s antsiness when we would surely be waiting around in a tiny room for hours on end until I was needed on set. After all the actors had read, the casting director came out to ask just three of us to stay (which is incredibly awkward, given that the rejection happens face-to-face, not customary in Hollywood, but the time crunch made it the only way to go.) The casting director was very sweet with the guys that didn’t make the first cut. And to my rather odd dismay, I was one of the final three. And the callback was happening right away, producers were on their way to the office to see the final candidates. We waited long enough that I made friendly with the other two guys, and they offered to hang out with the child while I went in for my next read. My son was very quiet and happily lost in his video game, so he appeared the angel. It’s a different thing when your kid is bouncing off the walls. Nobody wants to deal with that.

I did my read, got four or five adjustments, and then left the room. I knew when they gave me so much direction that I would get the job. Worst thing an actor can hear is, “Great work!” after doing it only once. If you get a whole mess of notes that make it clear that your first take on the material was completely wrong, it means that they like you and want to work with you and make you work for the role. Doesn’t matter how good or bad you are, really, but if they like you they will make you work. So I waited in the room with the three guys, knowing the job was mine, but secretly hoping I was wrong because the stress of doing my best possible work while having my focus split between the project and being a dad was daunting. The casting director came out and said they had to wait for network approval, which basically means all the suits that can’t be bothered to show up to the casting session still want to throw in their two cents, which even with such a small part is generally what happens when a show is brand new, hasn’t hit the air yet, but is very well liked. She didn’t want to make us wait in the dingy waiting room for an hour, so she asked us to leave the lot, but stay nearby and wait for the call. Blah.

So I took my son to a diner for lunch. We had some eggs. I was really too nervous to eat, which I thought strange given that I don’t get all that nervous anymore in regards to small jobs like this. But the added element of being a responsible parent was pushing me over the edge. I realize that I am an overly nervous person, so anything outside of my comfort zone terrifies me. Of course, maybe the very fact that I was in that state got me out of my own way and made me turn in good work in the audition. If it had been different? Well, who knows. Anyway, I had just told my son that he could have a piece of pie when the call came in, and I was the guy, and I had to get to set right away. While he started to whine about the canceled pie, when I explained to him that I needed him to be patient and strong for daddy and also that I would introduce him to a bevy of free treats available via the thing called “craft services,” he simmered down and cooperated.

Now, I’ve seen plenty of television star mommies and daddies with their kids on set, but I’ve never seen a bit player dragging a kid into the strange world of show making. The second we got to the lot, we were ushered onto a golf cart and driven to the set for a rehearsal. It dawned on me that my son had never ridden a golf cart before, and when I looked at his face (he was sitting on my lap) he was clearly in seventh heaven. When we got into the soundstage, me explaining everything that was happening as it was happening so he wouldn’t be terrified, they had a director’s chair waiting just for him (something that rarely happens to me on jobs like this, but clearly they were communicating to each other that I had a kid in tow.) Everyone was super-welcoming to him (and me) and three very cute actresses who had heard he was on the set immediately descended upon him and wanted to take him to craft services. I didn’t want him out of my sight, so I politely thanked them and asked if they wouldn’t mind waiting until after the rehearsal to take him to the snack wonderland. He is a charmer, and well-behaved, so everyone seemed to take to him. He was overwhelmed, so he kept his eyes on me, and I checked in with him every couple of minutes to make sure he knew that I wasn’t getting lost in my work. He was number one.

He had never seen me work before, so in that I got a gift. He got to see the cameras and the sets and the television stars and his dad standing in the midst of it all. During the rehearsal three different people apologized to me after saying “fuck” after a screw up. I told them the same thing that I did the casting director, and I don’t know that my little fella even noticed the bad language. (We never make a big deal out of bad words in movies we see at home or when friends let them slip, and I think the lack of power we give those words keeps him from caring about them.) And after, my son told me how funny he thought I was. The director did, too, actually, but while in any other situation that would have been important, the only opinion I cared about was the kid’s. In any event, one of the actresses escorted us to the snack area, and my son got an ice cream that he decided he didn’t like, so the actress threw it out and got him another one (which he thought was awesome, because his parents never would have done such a thing…because we pay for only one ice cream, and in Craft Service Land, it is all magically free.)

We then hung out in my dressing room for a couple of hours, and he couldn’t play video games because my phone battery was dying, and he started bouncing off the walls. There was a television, but they didn’t have any kids channels so he was stuck watching “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader” or whatever that show is called which bored him to tears. And I’m trying to learn my lines while he is complaining about the commercials which he never sees because we stream all his shows from Netflix and he doesn’t usually have to hassle with him. Trying to explain to him the antiquated concept of “live television” proved a pointless endeavor. Eventually I was brought into a wardrobe fitting, and I had to tell him what “wardrobe” was eighteen times before it finally sunk in. He said wardrobe fittings were more boring than that game show with children, and I agreed. The wardrobe stylist was very helpful in talking to him, but he started getting antsy again and was spinning around on one of those rotating office chairs when he pinched his hand between one of the chair arms and a desk. He cried. I ran out of the changing area in my skivvies to make sure he was all right and calm him down. When you are a parent, all modesty flies out the window.

He was okay, and the wardrobe fitting was mercifully brief, and a few minutes later my wife came to the lot to take him home. I told her about the day, and said our son had done quite well and everyone liked him, and I mentioned that at one point he was sitting on his director’s chair surrounded by TV stars who were all charmed by his presence. He said, “Well, mom, they’re all actually all my friends now. I call them friends.” Ain’t that sweet?

Hours later, my scene was shot and the day was over. Very stressful, but ultimately a great experience. For me. And I imagine for him as well.

The next day, I had to take him to another audition, this one for a commercial. When I got out he asked, “So are we going to work now?” I explained to him that it usually didn’t work that way. But I wished we were going to work.

I really wished we were.