Photo of the Day: My Liscester Square tube stop at night. The gate way home.

The only thing I know about London summer weather is the rain delays that plague Wimbledon. However, this year there have been no rain delays at center court. The weather has been very nice. My producers don’t like the good weather because when it is nice people tend to go to the park and play outdoors rather than attend matinees.

Today as I walked to the tube station, the air was so clean and clear the world seemed to be crisp, clean and sharper in focus than usual. It was a noticeable difference. I spent the entire trip to the theater in wide-eyed awe. That’s when I noticed I was wearing my contact lens instead of my glasses.

I usually wait until I do my makeup to put on my contact lens. Very interesting what you see when the world is actually in focus. Who knew that Big Ben was just a clock?

Tonight was the show before press night and they kept referring to it as “meteor night”. I thought it was some celestial metaphor. The night before opening, a shooting star kind of night, you know, meteor night... getting ready to make a flash in the theatre. It was the British accent that threw me off. Everyone was actually saying “media night”. The night reviewers other than the newspaper press attend.

It was a very a special night, and not just because the “media” was there. There was a magical moment that will distinguish this show from all others. The crowd was great and the response was wonderful. As I came out for my final curtain call there was a little boy who made his way down to the front of the stage. I don’t remember seeing him in the audience until that moment. All I could see was the top of his head and eyes peeking over the stage. He lit up when I came back on stage.

He was about 7 years old and totally oblivious to the applause. He was on a mission and could not be distracted. As if we were the only ones in the room he was asking me, in a beautiful British accent. “How did you make that puppet talk?”

I could barely hear him above the applause. I leaned down to hear him better and said something quickly, trying to acknowledge the audience’s ovation in the same move. Whatever answer I gave him was not satisfying, because he kept asking the same question, “Yes, but how did you make that puppet talk? How did it talk like that?” At this point he began to climb onto the stage. Clearly I was paying more attention to the audience than to his question.  It was a struggle for him but I could see he was determined to get on the stage, so I grabbed him by the arms and hoisted him up onto the set with me.

If I thought the roar of the crowd, the smell of the greasepaint and the stage lights would distract him from his mission I was mistaken. All he wanted was an answer to his question, “How did you make that puppet talk?”

I took the Spaulding eyes I use on stage out of my pocket and gave them to him, thinking that would be sufficient. The crowd gave an audible heartfelt sigh of approval; he accepted the gift graciously, but it was not an answer to his question. He was still wanting an explanation as I lowered him back into the audience floor. Once again all I could see was the top of his head and his wide-open eyes,  looking for the solution to the magic trick I couldn’t explain.

I thought for sure his parents would bring him around after the show and I could try to give him more of an answer, but it wasn’t to be. By the time I got out of makeup, he was gone.

It’s not often that you get to see yourself as a child sees you. It’s not often you see yourself as you were the first time you believed in magic. Tonight in the eyes of a little English boy I saw all of that and more. I saw myself the first time I saw Big Jon and Sparkie yelling out “I WANT THAT ELF”.

I end my show every night with the words “Sometimes we just need to Believe.” Tonight I saw what pure belief looks like, and I it is beautiful.

As you were,
Jay