The “Gentle Herding” of a Theater Enthusiast

Car Rides With Dad, From Elementary School to College

By Maribelle Hoffa

This article is part of the Stage Raw/Unusual Suspects Youth Journalism Fellowship

The year is 2014. I’m sitting on my dad’s lap in his shoe-box sized office. In front of us, Wikipedia glows on the computer screen. Next to the computer is my dad’s phone, blaring Wicked. As each song plays, my dad and I scour Wikipedia for an analysis of each song: an attempt to make sense of a musical we have never gotten to see live.

The year is 2024. I’m much too big to sit in my dad’s lap now. Instead, I’m next to him in a movie theater. We are watching Wicked on the big screen. We turn to each other and smile.

Many daughters get their taste in rock music from their fathers: Led Zeppelin, Bon Jovi, the works. From my father, I got my taste in musicals. Long car rides to preschool were the perfect excuse for him to introduce me to Into the Woods, Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Cinderella, and, like previously stated, Wicked. It wasn’t until years later that I realized there were two reasons for this. The first reason was that he is a true, honest-to-god theater nerd. (The man’s celebrity crush is Bernadette Peters.) The second reason, perhaps the primary reason, was that he thought my exposure to that world at a young age would maybe, just maybe, guide me down the theatrical path.

And it very much did.

Let me make one thing very clear: I wasn’t forced into it by any means. I was gently herded in that direction– but if at any point I decided that it wasn’t for me, I’d never have to do it again. I never reached that point. And honestly, probably never will. Of course, my dad was thrilled.

Around the same time that I started participating in my elementary school’s musicals, my dad took up a job as a high school drama teacher. It was a new environment for him, and also for me, as I went from sitting in audition waiting rooms with him to watching him create lesson plans and cast lists. In a way, as I was beginning my theatrical journey, he was too. Or rather, turning over a new leaf on what he already knew.

These car rides where we previously listened to musicals for the thrill of it became car rides where we listened to musicals that he was thinking about producing at his school. I became so infatuated with the drama program that he was running you’d think I was actually part of it. I was vocal about which shows were the perfect fit and which ones weren’t: this one doesn’t have a strong ensemble, this one is too mature, this one is too immature.

I remember one summer, probably of 2019, I was especially infatuated with his process in picking the spring musical. There were two options: Spamalot or Shrek: The Musical. I told my dad I was neutral about the decision, but he knew that I had a clear preference for Shrek (which, by the way, still remains one of my favorite musicals of all time). He didn’t think that Shrek would work because he didn’t have enough boys in his program, it was too difficult vocally, and Spamalot was just too charming and hilarious to pass up. To indulge me, he acted as if it was a decision he was grappling with. In reality, he had already made up his mind.

One night, he let me know that he had made his decision. I begged him to tell me what it was, practically on my hands and knees. He refused, insisting that he couldn’t say a word until he had his actual students knew first, for fear that somehow I would ruin the surprise. That evening, my parents went out, leaving me with a babysitter and a mess of anticipation. I couldn’t handle it! My desperation to be involved in the reveal felt personal, like I was somehow going to be affected by his decision. In reality, I was ten years old in rainbow pajamas, sitting in my bedroom, waiting for my dad to come home.

When he finally returned, just before midnight, I was wide awake. He laughed, amused but not surprised. “It’s Spamalot,” he said. “Sorry.”

I was disappointed, at first. But then he started rehearsing, listening to Spamalot in the car, around the house doing the dishes, and it was all ok. Everything he produced I saw through rose-colored glasses, and I knew that Spamalot would be no different. The students seemed so mature and experienced to me, the music seemed so loud, the stage looked so big. It didn’t matter the show he chose. It was Broadway to me.

It was then that I really started taking theater seriously, maybe in the way my dad originally intended. Car rides to school and silly youth theater programs became car rides to summer acting intensives, to voice lessons. I remember my dad driving me three hours up to Idyllwild for a Shakespeare intensive and listening to Mean Girls: The Musical all the way up the mountain. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized the generosity of this gesture– a man with a job and another child at home taking six hours out of his day to get me where I needed to go.

That summer at Idyllwild made me realize that I was equally as excited about actually performing in musicals as I was just listening to them. My love for musical theater never ceased to exist- it just changed form. I discovered a newfound passion in Shakespeare, straight plays, story structures, and dramatic writing. Those new interests didn’t distract from my love for musicals- it honestly made it more fun because it removed the personal and competitive aspect from it.

The same year I went to Idyllwild for the Shakespeare program, I applied to LACHSA (Los Angeles County High School for the Arts) for theater. My parents supported the decision but were honest about how difficult it would be if I were accepted. Not just for me, but for my entire family, who would be committing to daily drives across Los Angeles for a demanding school. But of course, when I was accepted, it seemed like the only right answer.

Little did I know that by deciding to attend this school, I was signing up for more car rides with my dad than I had ever had in my life. And not just a 45- minute commute every day to class, but ventures all over Los Angeles for rehearsals, short-film shoots, performances, and more. You name it, I was there, and my dad (along with a pretty amazing carpool) was probably the one driving me.

As my love for theater expanded, so did his advice and guidance, but I never let him “teach” me. In fact, I often discreetly rolled my eyes at his advice. But only because, deep down, I knew that he was right.

I could say that my love for theater started in elementary school when I first started performing. I could say that it started at Idyllwild when I did my first straight play. I could say it started in high school when I started training in a conservatory. But the truth is that my love for theater began the second my dad held me in his arms for the first time.

The love for theater is just a love of human connection and honest communication, which is all my dad ever hoped I could achieve. Maybe guiding me down that path in the first place was his way of instilling it in me.

My first ever car ride with my dad was in preschool, listening to musicals. The same thing commenced in elementary school, in middle school, and in high school. Soon, I will be in the car with my dad, listening to musicals, on the way to college. It will be a strange feeling. Maybe happy. Definitely a little bit sad. But more than anything, it will be filled with song and a shared love for the performing arts. It will be the last car ride with my dad for a while, but it won’t be the last one in my life.