Introduction In my first year in the theatre program at Toronto''s York University, our class decided to put on a comedy evening of student-composed sketches to help us get to know each other. We organized ourselves into groups. Each group would write and perform two sketches. One skit presented by my group was a scenario familiar to our audience of other theatre students, with a twist.The sketch went something like this: Mom and Dad, in their mid-forties, are sitting in their modest living room one evening after dinner. Their dress suggests they are middle class. Dad is on the couch watching television, while Mom is in her chair reading a book. After a few seconds, Chris, their eighteen-year-old son, enters, looking a little nervous.
Chris: Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. Can we talk about something? Mom (putting her book in her lap): Of course. Dad (turns off TV): What''s on your mind, son? Chris: Well, I know you''ve been waiting for me to make up my mind about what I want to take in university, and I''ve thought it through, so I think I''m ready to tell you. Mom and Dad glance at each other, excitedly. Dad: Exciting! We''ve been waiting for this all year. Mom: Good for you, Chris. You know we''ll be happy for you, no matter what it is.
Chris looks a little pensive. Chris: Well, before I tell you, I just want you to know that I''ve thought about it really hard, and I know I have a lot of good options in front of me, but I feel it''s important that I do something that''s going to make me happy. Dad: Happiness is so important. Mom: That''s what we want for you too! Okay, we can''t wait anymore! What is it? Chris takes a deep breath. Chris: I''ve decided to become an accountant. There is silence in the room. Mom and Dad seem confused. Their faces change.
Dad: An accountant .? Chris: Yeah. Mom: You mean . you''re not taking theatre? Chris: No. I''m sorry. Mom and Dad look at each other. Mom: I guess we''re just . a little surprised.
I didn''t even know you liked accounting. Chris: Well, I did take it in high school. Mom: Sure, but you know . that was just a class . We didn''t know you were serious about it. Chris: I took it all through high school. Dad: I think your mother and I just thought it was a phase or something. I mean, is accounting a real job? Chris: Yeah, it''s a real job.
Dad: Can it make you happy the way you think it will? I mean, we always talked about theatre as something exciting! Chris: Well, to be honest, I think you and Mom did, but didn''t you ever notice I wouldn''t really say anything in those conversations? Dad: So, are you saying that all of that was just something you did for us? Mom is starting to get upset. Chris: No, I''m saying that I always knew what I really liked, but you didn''t really want to notice. You know, the times we would have the neighbours over, and you''d be like, Oh, Chris is going to make such a good actor when he grows up. We can''t wait to see him in a fringe show or busking on Yonge Street. Didn''t you ever notice how uncomfortable that made me? Mom: But why accounting of all things? Are you doing that just to get back at us? Chris: No! Of course not. Ohhh, how do I make you understand? Mom: I just don''t know where we went wrong! She starts to sob. Dad: Look what you''re doing to your mother, Chris. Is this how you thank us for supporting you all your life? Chris: I don''t want to make you upset! Aargh, I knew this would happen.
Dad: I just think you haven''t really thought it through. I mean, have you considered how secure accounting is? What would you do with all that . money . coming at you . all the time! Mom (to Dad): I bet he expects us not to support him his whole life too, right? To live on his own. The cars. The properties. The savings! Oh, what are we going to tell people? I just have visions of him walking into family gatherings wearing .
DESIGNER CLOTHES! Chris: Look, I know this will take a little time to get usedto, but I know you''ll come around. Over time you''ll see this was the right decision for me. Mom: And what if it''s not?? Do you think you can just stop a program in university and start another?! Chris: Uh . yeah. Mom: I just don''t know what to say anymore. Chris: I''m really sorry you''re reacting this way. Honestly, this is exactly what I was afraid of. You know I love you guys.
They calm down. Mom is sniffling. Dad: We love you too, Chris. We just need a little time. Chris: Mom? Mom: You know I love you. I''m sorry, Chris. Chris: Okay, well, I''ll be upstairs reading my copy of Corporate Theory and Financial Policy if you want to talk about it more. Dad: Okay, Chris.
Everything will be all right, I''m sure. Chris exits. Dad reaches out to hold Mom''s hand. Mom sighs. Mom (to Dad, sadly): I''ll bet he''s not even gay. The audience was in stitches, and no wonder. As theatre students all of us had to endure the uncomfortable experience of telling our families that we were moving into a field that was fraught with challenges. Sure, any of us who made the Big Time (cash, media attention, and world travel) would be the toast of their loved ones and the envy of their siblings.
But until then, most of our families would not consider the performing arts an actual career. It was a hobby, something you played around with, a way to make friends and find new skills that could be applied to any number of more secure career choices. For those of us who became serious about the arts in high school, oftentimes the underlying feeling from our families was worry. The closer we got to graduation, the more it was suggested that we might outgrow this fascination. It wasn''t for bad reasons, necessarily. Our families were trying to protect us, do their best to ensure we survived and thrived, which often meant one thing: money. My own story mirrors this scenario. I am a first-generation Canadian, born in Toronto a year after my parents and two older sisters immigrated from Scotland.
My sisters were already in their mid-teens by the time I came along. Like so many immigrant stories, my parents'' was about leaving everything behind in search of something more prosperous for themselves and their children. We grew up in a working-class household and Canada offered a cheaper cost of living, a good public school system, and most importantly for my father, a good job. For my mother, the move to Canada was heartbreaking. In Scotland, they had a full life: a big family, many friends, dinners and parties, evenings at dance halls. Their people were their lifeblood and my mother struggled to find the same life in Canada. To leave all that behind was a huge sacrifice, one that she continued to lament up until her death. As they got older, my parents'' biggest source of pride was the three of us kids and the lives we made for ourselves.
Like many new immigrants, my parents believed that their sacrifices would benefit their children more than themselves. The most important thing was security. What was the point of such sacrifice if it meant a worse life for their kids? This meant that we had to get two things right: education and life choices. My sisters found success in the health care sector and in business administration, respectively. Both went to college to attain the necessary credentials. When it became my turn, the hope was that I would attend university, making me the first in the family to do so. Toronto was the perfect city for this aspiration, with two (at the time) big institutions within the city limits and several others within a one-hour drive. My grades weren''t perfect, but they were well within range for me to get into the program of my choice.
Their guess, and my inkling, was that I might start out in psychology; York University had an excellent program. But, almost as an afterthought, and at the suggestion of my high school drama teacher, I also selected theatre on my application to York. That drama teacher, Jim Finan, was a well-respected stage actor and director. He was also an excellent mentor who helped launch the careers of many successful talents. I had performed in plays and musicals all through my high school years, and I enjoyed how it helped me gain confidence. It never occurred to me that this passion might become more than a hobby until he suggested that it could be. So, I applied to the psychology program, but I also went to the theatre program audition, convinced that I had little chance of getting accepted. I was home alone when York University admissions called.
The admissions officer explained I had been accepted into both programs but because I had missed a deadline, I needed to accept one of those offers right there and then. Hesitantly, I mumbled into the phone, Uhh . I guess theatre. And that was it. The path was set. When my parents got home, I told them of my choice with the kind of tone one uses when announcing they need to darn a sock. They had no discernable reaction that I recall, except a slight pause and resigned Okay. I could tell this was not the choice they were hoping for.
They would openly challenge me on it months later. There was no way for me to know at the time that my decision would take me from theatre to book publishing, to magazine publishing, to electronic art, to website design. This in turn would lead me to form a company that produced the artwork of other artists that won awards; and requests to have me participate on boards and committees of other arts organizations would follow. All of this would eventually lead to an opportunity to teach part-time at Seneca Polytechnic and to later chair the department in which I.