Just barely survived the Spring Semester at my university; was hit by a fatigue and faintness, shortly after the fourteen weeks of classes began. I was directing Pinter’s BETRAYAL at another college, having recently finished a fight choreography job at the Cincinnati Shakespeare Company. But suddenly I was tired, self-conscious as a professor and self-doubting as an administrator. I couldn’t be responsible for myself, let alone others. Perhaps a major factor was the absence of acting in my life, during those months. I had to turn down an offer of a wonderful role, in a musical, at one of my favorite theatres; I was barely able to keep my focus on the usual overload of courses which I was teaching.
I am not used to being unhealthy, unhappy, and unenergetic. The absence of our sons in our daily lives, since they’ve moved from home across the U.S., has been a source of much sadness and grief for me. The waterworks are easily turned on by merely the thought of the subject. Let alone when I dare to walk into one of the empty bedrooms in the house. I’ve been a father for so many decades, nearly as many as my childless days. As I live this last year of my fifties, it can appear that my best days are behind me — until I remember I have six years of teaching before I can retire, and far more years of acting before I’d ever consider retiring from the stage.