Helping My Son with His Shakespeare Homework and Finally Using My Theatrical Training

“Dad, can you help me with my Shakespeare homework?” An emotion welled up inside of me. It’s what it must feel like for a former quarterback to be asked to play catch in the backyard with his child. A feeling that must be like when a chef like Gordon Ramsay is asked to cook alongside their offspring.

My son looked at me for a response, and thousands of hours on the stage flooded my brain. The college debt for studying theater would finally be absolved. For once, I would not have to look up math terms to help with homework or need to do a quick Google search for a definition. I was ready. I was trained for the moment. I looked at my son and replied, “sure.”

My kids know about my acting background and have even tried to convince me to go back to the stage. They also know my love for Shakespeare. A couple of years ago, my son and I went on a Shakespeare tour of England and saw The Tempest at the Globe Theatre. It was one of my favorite vacations.

He handed me his copy of A Midsummers Night’s Dream and the first thing I noticed was a lot of Post-It notes sticking out of the pages. I was instantly proud. As I opened it up, I told him one of my dream roles was go play Puck in the play. My son smiled and mentioned he was playing the role during the reading. He then said the homework assignment is to translate the play into modern day English.

One of my favorite assignments in college was translating Macbeth into modern English. It’s a story that I’ve told my kids a few times and one that is embarrassing. I was tasked with rewriting the play with two classmates who were also theater friends. During my college days, I enjoyed being on stage, being moody, being reclusive when I felt like it, occasionally method, and enjoyed drinking most nights of the week. I loved to write poetry, plays, short stories, and anything else when inspired. In classes, I would constantly argue with professors when tasked to write papers I couldn’t do unless I received some higher power inspiration. I couldn’t be forced to write, just as I couldn’t be forced to act. It all came from within. Well, obviously, that’s partial BS. Anyway, my two classmates, who I had known well, whipped through their portion of the play. I, on the other hand, waited for the divine calling to push my hands across a keyboard. They asked me repeatedly to finish so we could make sure our work was aligned.

Over the weekend, and two days before the assignment was to be turned in, there was a knock on my door. I wiped the eye junk out of my eyes and stumbled to the door. A hangover from the previous night pounded inside my head. When I saw their expressions, I knew what it was about. They let me know it wasn’t only me I was screwing over; it was also them. My arrogant, self-righteous stage persona had worn out its welcome. After they voiced their displeasure and walked away, I went to work at my desk and crafted the rewrite.

Just kidding.

After they left, I popped some Doans PM pills, downed a Gatorade, and went back to bed. When I woke up, I went to my bartending job and tossed drinks to patrons. When my shift ended, as usual, I was invited to shut-down another bar, only as a drinker and not a worker. Then I remembered my friends’ disappointment.

I picked up a 6-pack of Mountain Dew and a pizza and headed home. At my desk, I opened a fresh notebook, and scribbled my lines in iambic pentameter. My hands worked feverishly throughout the night and into the twilight of the next day. After I hand wrote the entire project, I typed them out. The assignment was finished.

I went to lunch that Sunday, tired and grumpy. My two friends saw me at my usual lunch spot in the cafeteria and approached to see where I was at with the assignment. As if it was no big deal, I told them I was done. That evening, we went over our work and combined our writings. I don’t remember the grade, but I remember the disappointment before the accomplishment. I also remember how happy they were with my inspired effort.

I cracked open A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream to the part my son was struggling with and I read it out loud with an English accent, just to make him laugh. Then I tried in another voice. Then another. Then another, until he became annoyed. I went line by line with what I felt the characters were saying. At one point, we disagreed on a few lines and he made his case for what he believed they were saying. Even though I disagreed, I told him he should use his point of view. After all, Shakespeare is up to the interpreter.

We also laughed every time the word “ass” showed up on the page.

After we finished the assignment, we watched an episode of Daredevil. When it was time for my son to go to bed, I walked to his room to say, “goodnight.”

“Thanks for helping me with my homework.”

“Of course. It was fun.”

We said our “I love yous,” and I returned to the couch. I opened up his book once more and perused through his Post-it notes. I smiled as I put each one back into place. He told me a couple days later he got a 100%. That’s a grade I’m going to remember.

It’s embarrassing when I think back on the early twenties me. It’s crazy that I wouldn’t do the homework until I was inspired. If my kids were to say that to me, I would chastise them for being lazy. I was, however, instantly inspired to help my son with his Shakespeare homework. Inspiration is easy to find when you’re a parent. My kids inspire me daily. I want them to be at their best and to challenge themselves. I’m inspired to create within them senses of achievement and joy. I’m inspired by them to make the world better. I’m inspired to not let them down.

And behind a keyboard, my kids inspire me to write.

You might also like:
Walking in Shakespeare’s Footsteps
3-Day Itinerary for Visiting Shakespeare’s Stratford-Upon-Avon
An Interview with Liam Neeson on How Fatherhood Directs His Characters
Time Doesn’t Stop for a Dream
Throwing Away My Shot and Hitting a More Fulfilled Dream
Staying Home: Watching My Kids Grow Up While Others Pass Me By