My first plays in college were very much just me trying to articulate and work through some things that were troubling me about my life, about the world and the way that I saw it. Being that I was all of 18-21, which is to say, very mature and deep and complicated, I, for the most part, kept these plays to myself, and didn’t share this part of myself with my parents. Over the years, this started to feel wrong, as there is little space between myself and my plays, so keeping my parents away from them was cutting them off from a big part of my Self. Last night we strolled through the classrooms where I wrote said first plays, then I sat with them as they watched The Cake. My feelings could be described as ‘terror’ and ‘worry’ and ‘wanting to at the same time vomit and cry’ and ‘where is wine’ but now, on the other side of it, I feel lucky and liberated  and open,  having shared. Why do the work if you can’t share it with the people who made you? IF A PLAY FALLS IN AN UNDERGRADUATE THEATER BUILDING, DO ANY PARENTS HEAR IT AT ALL? (Because they should.)