You are an actor, your boss is an actor, your significant other is an actor, I am an actor. We’re all actors and “all the world’s a stage” as Shakespeare noted. If acting is about pretending to be someone you’re not, then I’m acting out being a writer. (Note to self: must write something that interests others not just ramblings). Extensive research (that is talking to myself) has uncovered two areas of life where people need acting advice: as a parent and as an eater. This covers billions of us, so read on.
As a mother or father you may be desperately trying to act the role of the firm but reasonable, wise but wacky parent. Every day your children will stretch the limits of your stamina and sacrifice and forcibly enlarge your capacity for love and devotion beyond what you thought was humanly possible. Without thinking, they will compel you to become an actor and develop a script for different gruelling parental situations. What will you say when the little darlings won’t eat anything but instant noodles? You will develop a script. You will probably compose a few lines to deliver the next time they baulk at going to bed or refuse point blank to go to school. You’re acting out the role of being a parent of a particular style, with particular values and attitudes, trying to sway your children’s motions and emotions.
“Jump in the car, it’s time to see your friends at school!” you say with as much jauntiness as you can muster. You think that “jump” could be more fun than “get into” and “see your friends” is more likely to motivate your beloved offspring then “learn to read”.
You are acting out a drama – just like any stage or screen actor. The only difference is that your venue is the Groundhog Day of everyday life.
You are both trying to put on a convincing character in order to influence, motivate or at least distract the target audience. So embrace the drama. Acting is a necessary part of the parental toolbox. Face the truth: just speaking the lines of bald unvarnished parental truth is not likely to cut it.
“Get dressed now or you’ll be going to school in your pyjamas!” Totally unconvincing.
You both know that this will never happen. If you did actually deliver your child to school dressed this way it would be admitting defeat.
If your child spent the day at school hiding in the toilets in his nightwear, you would have failed in your careful portrayal of a poised parent.
So in order to guide your child into socially acceptable behaviour, you must act out all sorts of attitudes and characters. You pull out all the acting tricks you know in order to bluff your child into going to sleep at a reasonable hour, waking up on time, and not biting others. You are acting out being a life coach so that your child is generally cooperative at school rather than super-gluing the lock on the staff room door or sabotaging the school PA system as he had planned.
You also have to act out the perfect parent personification for the audience of other parents who in turn are also acting out parental perfection for you. It’s a demanding dramatic characterisation, played out day after school day on the stage of the schoolyard or car park.
You must project the right image: the right make up or tattoos, the right shoes, sunglasses, skinny suit or gym gear. These will, you hope, demonstrate your worldly success, cool fashion sense and self discipline to other parents, who are trying to portray the same factors to you. Not only are the right costumes essential for the school pick-up performance but so are the right props. Your vehicle must authentically match your chosen parental characterisation. The big BMW or Mercedes SUV rumbles “money” without a word being spoken. The hybrid or electric car smugly declares “green cred”, the hand decorated VW Kombi sputters “retro hippie” or the vintage restored ex-army Land Rover says “weirdo”.
Then there are the carefully chosen family holidays to project the parental persona. “Oh we know it’s boring but we’ve decided to go back to Greenland this summer -again- there’s so much for the kids to discover for themselves in the tundra. They’re making a YouTube movie about it – I’ll let you know when it’s been uploaded. The scene where they are dancing with Arctic hares is a hoot”.
So much for being a parent actor. Another popular role for everyday life is being an eating actor. No, not an actor who is able to earn enough to afford to eat. Rather you may choose to give an impersonation of being a healthy eater.
“I only eat organic salads, wild-caught fish and lean meat with no hormones. No more carbs or fat or preservatives for me!” you declare. So when you are eating out with friends you pick at a salad and refuse dessert.
“I’ve gone strictly sugar free. You know what they call those sweet little crystals – white death!”
You drop a few lines about the health benefits of Omega 3 (or is it 4?) fatty acids in fish, the super food qualities of kale, how you only eat certified organic, free range, non-GM quinoa etc etc. You feel you are growing in your friends’ estimation as a disciplined foody healthy eater. Your portrayal is so convincing you’ve moved them to genuine guilt and one of them has now cut out sugar in her coffee by using low fat milk (loaded with artificial sweeteners). But though you have offered a convincing portrayal of a healthy eater, your friends have doubts. They cannot help noticing your continuing belly bulge or thunderous thighs. For while you are a great eating actor, at home, off stage, out of sight, in the green room of life, you indulge in all those cakes, pizza, chocolates and sugary drinks you long for. After all kale is only digestible as a smoothie with an equal proportion of ice cream to vegetable matter. Plus a dash of chocolate to improve the flavour. Chocolate is a vegetable of course.
– Geoff M
