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Stage DadMy son's first day of work. |
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Photo: Gerville Hall My sister asked, “Are you nervous?” Why should I be nervous? Britt would be the one getting his picture taken, not me. “Aren’t you worried about those stage parents? And what if he doesn’t perform?” None of that had really crossed my mind. I thought most of the people would be like me and have a cute kid on a card they sent to their agent. And Britt usually laughs around other people; he only cries when it’s bedtime. However, I did see a TV show about six year olds in beauty pageants -- the parents screamed at these little princesses until they finally agreed to live out their mother’s dream. I didn’t want my son to be around those people. Also, all of the lights and cameras might make him upset and tantrum uncontrollably. What if those baby beauty pageant parents give me that eye-roll people get on a plane when their screaming kid won’t shut up? Still, I was expecting something a little different. The photo session was going to be held in a loft, and I could tell by the address, this is a hip and trendy part of Chicago. Also, I’ve seen enough Entourage episodes to know what a craft food service table looks like. I imagined as I entered the posh loft my son would be whisked away by a team of baby stylists and nannies. I would be guided, by an attractive young hostess named Holly, to a table filled with bagels, luncheon meats, condiments, pastries, cheeses, a carving station and a sundae bar. Holly would then carry my plate of chocolate éclairs and salami sandwiches to a tray aside a large couch where I would watch satellite TV until Britt’s five minutes of fame were up. The team caretakers would then bathe him and carry him down as soon as the valet returned with my freshly washed car. Yes, sometimes I shoot high, but I’ve never missed so badly. Despite sharing a residence with a place that cuts up cows, the loft was very nice. The big, wide-open space with hardwood floor, granite counter tops and exposed brick was huge. It was also packed with photography equipment, sets, and a dozen people working on the shoot. However, there wasn’t a buffet style eatery filled with snacks and cakes. Instead, I found a box of doughnuts that had been pilfered through so only the plain ones were left. I looked at the naked pastries and thought, “Why do doughnut makers make the plain doughnut? Who wants to get all of the calories and fat that you’d get from a chocolate doughnut, but none of the flavor? Makes no sense to me.” But just before I could start yelling at the poor, plain doughnuts a woman snuck up behind me. “Is this Britt?” she asked. I hoped I wasn’t thinking aloud, again. I was led to a table to sign my child up for his first day of work. The sneaky lady explained the details. “OK, so he gets $75 per hour. Then, if the client likes him they will be used at point of purchase, internet and print. You get $350 for the three year license.” That sounded fine to me, “You mean I’ll get 350 bucks every place they use his picture?” I asked. “No, no!” she quickly corrected me. “He’ll get $350 just once, and they can use it as many times as they want for the next three years.” This hardly sounds fair, but he isn’t union so we can’t complain to anyone. We took a seat in the dressing area while a team discussed his wardrobe. “Let’s put him in the underwear,” someone said. I thought having him in underpants when he still craps in his current pants might look strange, but these are advertising and photography professionals, I’m just an amateur stage dad. “Wait, he’s probably still in diapers,” a voice of reason sounded. The group huddled over the clothing rack trying to make a decision. Finally, a woman in a black executive type suit asked me, “Is he walking yet?” I looked at Britt, and I saw that he almost laughed at the question too. “Well, he just started crawling yesterday so I think walking might be a few days away.” Next: "My hands started to become clammy" |
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