MOM AND DAD

Not infrequently I catch myself speaking, acting or thinking in a way passed on somehow (genetics, learned behavior patterns?) from one of my parents. I’m sure everyone has this sensation. And sometimes the two clash, catching me in waves coming from different directions. That’s the dilemma of Ted in the 1950’s-set musical DAD AND MOM, which he lays out in the show’s opening song, with the spectral help of his mom, Bitsy, and his dad, Zach.–J. Linn Allen

“Mom and Dad” from the show DAD AND MOM

TED

YOU ARE YOUR MOM AND DAD—IT’S A TRUTH WELL KNOWN.

THEY ARE ALWAYS THERE INSIDE YOU AND YOU’RE NEVER ALONE.

BUT WHICH ONE AND WHEN, AND TO WHAT DEGREE?

DOES IT VARY WITH WHOM OR WHERE YOU HAPPEN TO BE?

DOES ALL THIS SPECULATIONS MATTER?

AREN’T I REALLY THE ONE

THAT’S RESPONSIBLE FOR ALL THAT I HAVE THOUGHT AND I HAVE DONE?

YOU WOULD THINK SO. THAT’S SUPPOSED TO BE THE ADULT WAY.

BUT MY ACTIONS CONFUSE ME AND CONFOUND ME EVERY DAY

AND I FEEL THESE BIG FINGERS

THAT ARE POKING ME AND PRODDING ME

LIKE PLIABLE CLAY.  

Enter Zach, who grabs Ted’s arm.

ZACH

SON, YOU’VE GOTTA UNDERSTAND THE VALUE OF A DOLLAR

STAND ON YOUR OWN TWO FEET AND DON’T BACK DOWN.

THE WORLD DOESN’T GIVE A DAMN FOR WHAT YOU THINK YOU THINK

AND A MAN’S GOTTA KNOW HOW TO HAVE A COUPLE LAUGHS

AND HOW TO DRINK, DRINK, DRINK.

TED

DRINK?

Enter Bitsy, grabbling Ted’s other arm.

BITSY

TEDDY, MY DEAR, SEE HOW FLOWERS BLOOM IN TIME.

FIRST EARLY MARCH WITH SNOWDROPS AND CROCUSES,

THEN STARTING APRIL WITH THE DAFFODILS AND TULIPS.

AFTER COME THE PEONIES IN LATE MAY OR JUNE

AS IF NATURE KEPT THE BEAT TO A LONG-RUNNING TUNE.

They pull on him, dancing with him together and in turn.

                         TED

NOT WHAT YOU’D CALL WELL MATCHED. IN FACT A TWO-CAR WRECK.

A BOAT THAT STARTED LEAKING FROM THE TIME THEY STEPPED ON DECK.

I’M A MAN, WITH A MORE OR LESS MALE POINT OF VIEW.

AND MY STYLE AND TRAITS AND LIKINGS OFTEN COPY DAD TOO

LIKE FEDORA HATS AND STUBBORNESS AND JOHNNY WALKER RED

            AND BULLYING BLUSTER WHEN THE STRESS GOES TO MY HEAD

BUT MY MOTHER WAS THE GIVER OF MY COMFORT AND MY FOOD

            AND SHE’D OPEN UP THE WORLD WHEN IN HER TALKATIVE MOOD,

WITH A FLOWING STREAM OF WARMTH AND OF PLEASANT CHAT

ABOUT THE HUMOR OF THIS AND THE MARVEL OF THAT.

BITSY

LAST NIGHT WE ATTENDED THE MOST INTERESTING PLAY

CALLED DEATH OF A SALESMAN—VERY SAD AND PROFOUND.

IT MADE ME THINK A LOT ABOUT OUR VALUES TODAY

AND HOW WE SPEND OUR LIVES, SO I COULDN’T HELP BUT WEEP.

OF COURSE HALF WAY THROUH YOUR FATHER WENT TO SLEEP.

ZACH

LISTEN, KIDDO, FOR YOUR INFORMATION,  

FANCYPANTS WORDS WON’T CUT IT WITH ME.

YOU THINK THAT YOU’RE SMARTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE.

BUT ALL YOU’VE GOT IS A HELL OF A NERVE.

  IN THE END YOU ONLY GET WHAT YOU DESERVE.

TED

ALL THESE PIECES AND SPLINTERS ARE DRIVING ME NUTS,

SO I’VE GOT TO WAKE UP AND GET MY WHEELS OUT OF MY RUTS.

SOMEHOW SORT OUT THE FORCES AND THEN CALCULATE THE SUM

THAT EQUALS THE AGGLOMERATED MAN I’VE BECOME.

TED, ZACH, BITSY

THE POSESSED, CROOKED, COMINGLED MOM AND DAD PERSON

I’VE (HE’S) BECOME.

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