Here’s Rob McRay’s understory from our record-breaking night at February 2018’s theme “Things I Never Told My Parents.”
Nashville, tonight we are really glad are parents weren’t here!
We never told them of our break from the rigid rules of the all-girl school to throw an all-girlfriend party, complete with bilingual education in the use of contraband and marital education watching unimaginable things in a decidedly unromantic movie.
We never told of skipping school to sneak into the cow pasture, or bribing Queen Betty with shoplifted goodies and facing legendary African discipline, or guzzling a large wine glass of…not-wine. But we learned our lessons and became our parents’ pride and joy.
We never told of going to Bonnaroo without A/C, observing dead-head bongs and landscape paintings on inappropriately free canvases, where we engaged in an act of cultural defiance involving sophisticated daisies—which led us to the profound discovery that we would rather be fully clothed.
We never told that we investigated the legality of our parents’ marriage, or that we used the imaginary story of our grandparents’ marriage to deflect unwanted advances, or that we knew the truth of our mom’s mom’s plot to snare our dad’s dad.
We never told of how preaching our grandmother’s funeral led to discoveries of useless floppies, and handwritten records of grandfather’s…compulsions, and tales of the horny bugger’s conquests. And we’re certain that Mom still wouldn’t want to know!
We never told of our Jeckyll-and-Hyde youth in the Flatbush fish tank—of the gangster threat at the off-track betting parlor, or the whack from the camp survivor, or the assault from the street punks—or of our life with the Huxtables and Yiddish raps.
We never told of flipping off the universe and luring death into the mosh pits of anarchists and the tense world of colored bootlaces, and landing in a dangerous fight between commies and skinheads—but we were more afraid of losing our mother.
We never told of how our drama teacher, who sacrificed God’s gifts to help young thespians, promoted us from lip-syncing “Happy Birthday” to performing as a singing rat—when performance-anxiety-induced pit stains led us to a novel first use for feminine hygiene products.
We never told of a moment in the dark in a funeral parlor 63 years ago, or of being afraid of what others would think, or even more of what Dad would do. But we can now say that secret is no longer in those shadows, and we are free from the fear…and we can now say, “Me too!”
A special thanks to all our exceptional storytellers—Annette, Anna, Gayathri, Jeannie, Elisa, Steve, Melissa, Sally, and Amanda! What a night! Join us in March for “Ouch.” You can request a story slot here.