This is one of my favorite stories to tell because it still, and, I imagine, will always resonate so very strongly with me. Grab a blankie and get comfy, because it's story time.
I'm proud to say that I've never in my life taken any form of drug, nor will I ever; mostly because they're illegal, but also because I can't conceive of any substance that could give me the kind of high that I feel when I make someone laugh.
It's even better and richer with people I really care about, but no matter what, laughter is what I crave: more than romance, more than money, more than sex or chocolate or cheese or a good haircut. It is the best. I'm like a bug to a porch light, a plant to the sun with other people's laughter: it gives me life.
I've been directing plays for more than 15 years now, and I will always choose a comedy. I will pour my heart and soul and creativity and vision into something seemingly as inconsequential as a 10-minute skit, squeezing the funny out of every line like a well-worn washcloth, then sit in the wings and just listen, heart pounding, waiting for the audience's reaction.
When I first moved to Raleigh and started attending the small church that has now become like my family, I asked the pastor if I could direct plays that we could perform during the service. He said yes, and I was off and running, ready again to do the thing that gives me life.
One of the first skits I chose was a two-character play centered around Father's Day, acted by one of my best friends and another gregarious and good-sported man in the church who had never previously been onstage. It was set in a hospital waiting room, where my 25-year-old friend played a man whose wife was giving birth to their first child and the other man played a character who was waiting for his third child to be born. It was witty and very talky, the perfect mix of comedic realism and sweet pathos.
We started rehearsing two months in advance of Father's Day, several times a week. My friend had acted before, but, as I said, the other man hadn't, and though he took direction easily and tried hard, it was an uphill battle. As Father's Day inched closer, I started to get nervous.
Our rehearsals were rough right up until the very end. He had trouble keeping his lines straight, picking up on cues, and remembering the blocking. Through it all, I tried my best to be patient and encouraging.
One night was particularly frustrating. "I just don't know if I can do it," he said, head in hands.
"Yes, you can!" I cheered, both for him and for myself. "Look, you have to believe me. The first time you hear the audience laugh, it will be all worth it."
Three weeks before the performance, I traveled back to Pennsylvania to pick up the little poodle puppy my parents had gotten for me (who's now the sunshine of my life) and I remember lamenting to my mom, who had taught me to direct in the first place, that I didn't think we were going to be able to pull this off. Right then, I really didn't think we could.
Had I bitten off more than I could chew? Were we going to make fools of ourselves? Was this going to humiliate this wonderful guy who had volunteered his time and efforts to be in my play?
It was too late to back out now.
On Father's Day in 2008, I stood in a back room in my little church's sanctuary and listened to those two men give a nearly flawless, perfectly timed performance of our skit - by far the best I'd ever heard them do it. The audience laughed uproariously. That high I feel every time I hear an audience laugh coursed through me. I couldn't have been prouder.
After the skit was over, my new actor bounded back to where I was hiding, ecstatically grinning from ear to ear. "That was great! That was so much fun!"
I hugged him excitedly, and then he exclaimed, "You were RIGHT!"
That was six years ago, and on average I'd say I still think about that day once a week - especially on days full of the laughter I hold so dearly. There's nothing better.
I was RIGHT!
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