A night at the playhouse and a lifetime of lessons
I was at my desk deep in work, finessing the latest version of an investor deck, when a text popped up: “Don’t forget to pick up your dad at 6:30.” It was Leslie, my stepmom, gently reminding me of the play tonight. Good thing she did. I had completely forgotten.
I scrambled to wrap up what I was doing, changed clothes, and rushed out the door. I picked up my dad about 15 minutes late, but he didn’t mind. We made our way to the Tacoma Musical Playhouse, an old building in a rougher part of town. From the outside, it’s nothing special. But inside, the stage lights shine and Leslie’s troupe—the “Young at Heart Players”—brings it to life.
When I came inside, I found him stuck on that same couch. He’d tried multiple times to stand up but just kept sinking back into the cushions. I offered to help, but he waved me off, again and again. Stubborn as ever.
I’ll admit something here: I usually dread these plays. I even told my dad that tonight. He looked a little surprised. I explained that the plays aren’t always great. It’s an eclectic group, mostly older actors, and sometimes the roles don’t quite fit the cast. But tonight? Tonight was different. Guys and Dolls Jr. was a good pick. It had humor, charm, and somehow it just worked.
That said, I did doze off through part of the first act. The theater was dark, and I was tired. But after intermission, I stayed focused, and more importantly, I remembered why I was there: to be with my dad.
After the show, we sat together on a lobby couch while people congratulated the cast and filtered out into the night. I snapped a photo of us, something simple but meaningful. It was just the two of us waiting for Leslie. I’m glad I took it.
Earlier that evening, when we first arrived, I had dropped my dad off at the front door before parking the car. When I came inside, I found him stuck on that same couch. He’d tried multiple times to stand up but just kept sinking back into the cushions. I offered to help, but he waved me off, again and again. Stubborn as ever.
“Don’t be stubborn,” I said.
“No,” he grunted.
“Don’t be prideful,” I added.
That one hit home. Finally, he reached out his hand and let me help him up.
It might be the first time he ever let me help him stand up.
That’s just who he is—proud, fiercely independent, a journeyman carpenter and welder who built two houses with his own hands. He’s 83 now, with a cane, signs of dementia, and a few small strokes behind him. I worry about him, especially knowing I’ll be far away this next year.
Growing up, I was afraid of my dad. He had a tough childhood—one of six kids, raised on a farm in rural Fresno, California. All boys. My poor grandma. He was a hard man, and our home could be a tough place, especially for a sensitive middle child like I was. My parents divorced when I was just entering seventh grade, and it was a rough time for all of us.
But I also watched my dad fight for our family. And I watched him change after he found faith and accepted Christ. He still had sharp edges, but his heart softened.
When my brother Troy, just 11 months older than me, died, gone from a major asthma attack a few weeks before I turned 16—it changed everything. We were already growing closer, but that loss bonded us even more. I became his anchor to what remained of our family. My sister distanced herself for many years, but I stayed close.
There’s more to say, of course. But tonight, this evening at the play, reminded me that moments matter. I don’t know how many more I’ll get with him with his age. I’m heading to China soon. And if something happens while I’m away, I won’t be here.
So, I’m grateful for tonight. For the laughs, the shared glances, the quiet photo on a couch. I’m grateful Leslie reminded me. And I’m grateful that—even if just once—my dad let me help him up.
My birthday is in two days, and I’ll be spending that evening with my mom. I’m thankful for the time I’ve been given with both of them before I go.
Echo From The West 