Dan's Papers - October 5, 2007 - Twentysomething...By David Lion Rattiner

I've spent the last six months writing a musical and have finally finished up the first act and most of the second act. I was inspired to write the musical last year, after I played the lead role in the musical Li'l Abner at Pierson High School in Sag Harbor. My musical is about 120 pages long and I am currently looking for a musician to compose the music for the lyrics I wrote. In the meantime, I wanted my Dad to read the first act to see what he thought.

Now, I know from experience that my Dad was going to tell me that he liked it and that I was going to make millions of dollars. He had the same reaction when I self published a book in college titled Away At School, which had a grand total of about three hundred copies sold. So I really just wanted my Dad to read the musical so he could see that I don't goof around all of the time, and can occasionally be very focused.

"Dad, you want to read this musical I wrote? I think you'll like it."

"I'm pretty tired, I just played some basketball."

I took this as an insult. There have been countless times when I have been on my way out the door to a very important bar for some very serious Yankees watching when my Dad has stopped me short and said, "Son, you have to read this and tell me what you think."

And a hundred percent of the time, I read, sometimes I read very fast, but I still read it and say either, "Pretty good," which is code for bad, or "this is @#$@#$% hysterical," which is code for good.

I stood in the living room and gave him some puppy dog eyes for about three seconds.

"Alright I'll read it. Let me see it."

I fired up my laptop, sat down next to him on the couch and away we went, reading together. By page two, my Dad had giggled here and there at the jokes. He was moving along nicely and I was feeling great about it. My Dad was using his finger to press the page down button and I was reading along with him. We were reading at the same speed up until this point.

Then we got to page 23.

On page 23, it was clear to me that my Dad was reading at a much slower pace, but I didn't want to rush him. Perhaps he was considering an edit. I continued to stare at the screen and pretended that I, too, was reading the page slowly. Then, about five minutes went by. Then eight minutes. "Dad, did you finish this page yet or what?" I asked.

To which he responded, "SNNNNNOOOOORRRREEEEEEEEEEE!!!!"

He was out like a light. My play had put my dad to sleep. Perhaps I should try to market it as a children's book.

I sat for ten minutes in thought, pondering the situation. Should I feel like a failure as a playwright? I read the page. There were some solid jokes. So maybe my dad was just really tired. He did after all just play a half court game by the garage, which can even wear me out. I gave his leg a shake. Then, I did something that I've known he hates since I was five years old. I poked him in the stomach with my finger to quickly wake him. He sprung off the couch and exclaimed, "WHOAOOAOAHAHHAHAH!!!"

"What's the matter?" I asked with fake concern.

"Did you just poke me?"

"No, of course not. I know you hate that. I just came back from the kitchen. Why, were you sleeping?"

"No, of course not. I was just in the middle of the first act, something in the couch must have just jabbed and startled me."

"Oh, okay. Well what do you think of the play so far."

"I've been reading it and can't put it down. It's wonderful."