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4 OUR YUCAIPA | JUNE 2016 The Show Must Go On… By Courtney Fox Taylor When my son Benjamin was a little guy, he loved dressing up in costumes. Every day. It gave him confidence. He'd peek out the windows and see kids playing in our cul- de-sac and run to his room to put on, more often than not, his Spiderman costume, complete with mask. Then he'd play outside for hours, shooting invisible webs out of his wrists. Some mornings he'd be eating breakfast and call me Wendy. "Wendy, these eggs are delicious," he'd say. That was my clue that he was Peter Pan for the day. It was a no-brainer that he would love pretending on stage so when he was seven, I took him to audition for Yucaipa Little Theatre's production of Beauty and the Beast. He was so nervous and wanted to leave when he saw the room full of people. I told him everyone wanted him to do well so he took a deep breath and sang the Happy Birthday song. Everyone clapped. He learned that sometimes you just have to push through your nerves. Christine Presley, the director, called the following week with the news: Ben was cast as the Egg Timer. I took him to rehearsal five days a week and sat in the back, reading my book, watching as the show took shape. The whole cast went through choreography, blocking, singing — basically having a blast — while I sat there. Ben loved it. He made new friends and did really well. And I'm not saying that because I'm his mom. I think everyone in the audience really BELIEVED he was an egg timer that had come to life under a witch's magic spell. The next show was Annie and I knew I wanted in on the fun. I auditioned for Miss Hannigan, the part Carol Burnett played to perfection in the movie. I got the part and Ben was cast as Sandy, Annie's faithful dog. My favorite line in the show was with Ben. I turned to him, annoyed that Annie had a dog, and, after threatening Annie with death, said, "And I'll send this one to the sausage factory!" During one performance, Ben got something in his eye. He'd been crawling around on the floor and rubbed it with his costumed paw until it was red and swollen. He claims it was a nail. I think it was fuzz. "I can't go on," he said to me between scenes. "My eye really hurts." "Sorry buddy," I said. "The show must go on." He sighed and made his next entrance, finishing the show without losing his eyeball. In fact, it looked better once he stopped rubbing it. I like to think that it taught him perseverance. The next show he did was a Christmas play. He got the lead and was on stage for the entire show. I counted over 400 lines. He was only eight but he memorized them (and everyone else's) in no time. He was funny and sad and smart and silly in all the right spots. I was cast as a janitor (with seven lines that took me weeks to learn) so I got to play with him on stage once again. It's hard work, being a lead, but he did it with a great attitude, not realizing it was work at all. It was that summer that I signed him up for YLT's Just Dance program, taught by Matt Walsh. He learned tap, modern, jazz and (gasp) how to dance with a girl (Breezy was the girl - they were in the dance program together for five years). He found a life-long friend in Matt and went on to perform in several musicals Matt directed. I directed The Wedding Singer at YLT in 2010. It was the year my dad was dying. He'd had several strokes and I would drive down to Escondido to visit him in the hospital. I remember sitting by his bed and telling him all about the show. I told him how Tim, my husband (who doesn't understand why anyone would want to be in a play), built a dumpster for the show. I explained that there was a song called "Come Out of the Dumpster," and so we had to have a dumpster. I probably sang some of it to him. I told him how great Mia the choreographer was, how fantastic the actors were, how well the show was coming together. The show was my life and I was excited about it. Plus it was the biggest bright spot in my life at that time. I was, after all, visiting my dad on his death bed. I was thinking about all these memories and more as I sat in the back of the audience at the farewell performance at Yucaipa Little Theater last weekend. Everyone wanted to perform so there were more people on stage than in chairs. Even Ben sang "Single" from The Wedding Singer. I watched him like I did all those nights so long ago when he was an egg timer. It really had come full circle. YLT was an escape, a refuge, a headache, a savior and a home for so many performers and techies. I've watched my son and other countless kids grow up in their walls. I've done stand up and brought in great comedians who made Yucaipans laugh until they were doubled over. It was a magical place. But it wasn't magical because of the walls. It was magical because of the people. And, thanks to the new performing arts center going up next year, those people — my tribe — will find a new place to call home again. Hey Christine — if you want to do Annie, I'll be your Miss Hannigan. Maybe Ben will even reprise his role of Sandy…