You know that your mother and I love you and we’re very proud that you were cast in a production of Hair: The Tribal Love Rock Musical. We’ve really enjoyed coming to your shows in the past, and we’re sure you’re gonna knock ‘em dead. But please, don’t make us come see you naked.
I know, we brought you into this world, and it’s not like it’s anything we haven’t seen before. It does strike me as ironic that from the age of six, if anyone walked in on you changing, they were met with piercing screams. But I suppose that’s neither here nor there. It’s just one of the many ironies of parenting - you suffer while your child is self-conscious and inhibited, and then you suffer when she grows up and becomes a community theater exhibitionist.
The truth is, we’re not big fans of nudity in theater in general. At best it’s unsettling, at worst it’s grotesque. We know you said that the production would be “tasteful” and “artfully done,” but it’s hard for you to judge when you’re up there showing it off, and we’re down in the audience shifting uncomfortably.
For argument’s sake, though, let’s assume that the lighting and choreography really do make a beautiful tableau. Then we have the supreme discomfort of knowing that everyone else is looking at our daughter, and thinking things that we’d rather not think about when it comes to you.
Your mother is insisting we go, which means that we likely will. And trust me, honey, we’ll be cheering for you all the way through – despite the fact that I have never understood how people buy into the idea that a bunch of characters will spontaneously burst into song and choreographed dance moves in order to advance a plot. Don’t worry, we’ll have fun. We’ll just be praying for a major power outage during the nude scene.
PS Your mother and I just got cast in an all-nude review of CATS – now we’re even. HAH! I kid.