There's a lot I am not certain of...

It’s the most wonderful time of the year...if you’re a doctor or lawyer or banker. For us artists this time of year can be daunting.

If you’re in school, presumably for the performing arts, most probably you’re home for the holidays. For me coming home from university meant having to hear my dad lament about me wasting time and money studying to be an actor. Then the family would jump in with their two cents.

If you’re out on a contract, most likely there’ll be some sort of holiday promotion or benefit you’ll be a part of. During the season it was always about which charity we were going to do work for. Or better yet we had to squeeze in rehearsals and then promotion work in an already heightened show schedule.

If you’re a working actor in New York, or L.A. or Chicago or wherever you’re pursuing a career, it means your day job is probably taking all of your time. Maybe it doesn’t even afford you the holiday off. My day job during the holidays does take the majority of my time. I cater waiter, which means the more holiday parties affluent people throw, the more work I have. That translates to more money in my pocket. That makes for a happy new year.

No matter what the case is, with the holiday season comes parties, reunions and family. Most of these get-togethers boil down to one thing: I'm a performing artist existing in situations populated by non-performing people. It’s not always true, but a great percentage of the time these non-performers have no idea what we do, how we do it or the fact that our doing it is a vital part of society. And even though the vast majority of people are ignorant about how the Business of show works, everyone has an opinion or an experience.

No matter what level of success we’ve had, the conversation at a party or reunion always turns to what we’re doing with our lives. And everyone almost demands you hear what they have to say about it:

“Acting isn’t going to make you money.”

“Your cousin Kelly is going to school for architecture. Why can’t you do something productive like that?”

“I was a ballerina. When I was in third grade I took ballet for a whole year.”

“I dated this actress once. She was hot but a mental case.”

“Why aren’t you on Broadway yet? You’ve been in New York for a whole year. I don’t think you’re trying hard enough”.

And on and on and on until someone comes up with the most original idea ever:

“Hey, why don’t you show us your stuff?”

For my dad, he always wanted to see me tap dance. We would be watching a movie musical (after I begged for hours to do so) and there would be a tap number. Inevitably he would say things like “I bet you didn’t learn that in class”, or “you probably can’t even do that”.

I would laugh it off and continue watching the movie, unaware that this would be a reoccurring theme in my show business life. At parties and gatherings I would be put on display, essentially reduced to being a performing monkey.

Every year, every party, every celebration it was always the same. It never stopped. It didn’t matter that I spent $65,000 on a degree. It didn’t matter that I was still basically in school with all my dance classes, voice classes, and acting lessons. It didn’t matter that I had to miss meals to afford to take those classes. It didn’t matter that what I do is just as important and necessary as what a doctor or lawyer or banker does. I had to be judged and proven worthy of the title of artist...by non-artists.

And every time I declined. 

Every time but once.

When my mom went into the hospital the last time before she died, the whole family gathered. One night it was just me and my oldest brother sitting in the hospital room. He turns to me and says “why don’t you sing something for her?” So I did. I sang the first thing that popped into my head, “Everything’s Alright” from Jesus Christ Superstar.

Try not to get worried

Try not to turn onto

Problems that upset you oh

Don’t you know

Everything’s alright

Yes, everything’s fine

And we want you to sleep well tonight

Let the world turn without you tonight

If we try

We’ll get by

So forget about us tonight

In the middle of my singing, to our dying mother, my brother says “You’re trying too hard to be perfect. Just sing, like this...” He proceeded to sing some song. I don’t remember which one. I was too upset on so many levels that it just got blocked out.

From that point forward I flat out refused to perform on cue. If I wasn’t being paid or if it wasn’t going to advance my career or fluff my resume I wasn't doing it. At parties when people find out I’m a musical theatre performer they inevitably ask to hear or see something. I simply say one of two things.

“I’m a professional. I get paid a lot to perform. Are you paying by cash or check?”

Or if I’m in the mood for a lengthy discussion I say:

“If I were a dentist, would you ask me to extract a tooth right here, right now?”

I love parties as much as the next person, probably more. But there is a difference in being a guest at the party and working at the party. If nothing else, catering has taught me that. I want to enjoy the festivities, not be a puppet with strings to pull whenever someone wants entertainment.

I don't need to prove myself or my worth to anyone.

What we do as artists deserves respect, just like any doctor, lawyer or architect. What we do as artists deserves monetary payment just like any banker, nurse or teacher. If those things aren’t forth coming, artists have to choose not to share their art. WE are a valuable part of society as a whole and should be treated as such.

You as a performer have to stick up for yourself. If you aren’t being paid, or it isn’t advancing your career or putting a notch on your resume think long and hard about why you would do it. And then don’t. Before anyone will respect you, you have to respect yourself and your Art. Otherwise you’ll spend every holiday party hearing...

“...Why do I pay for all those lessons? Dance for Grandma. Dance for Grandma!”