And I suppose I should be grateful: that he’s not into hunting or video games, that he’s not spending hours every day watching porn (though it would be a kind of relief to find out that he’s watching porn instead of what he is doing: hour after hour scanning Backstage and Playbill for new auditions, or workshopping new monologues or taking classes on animal exercises and sense memory. At least porn is a fantasy that everyone understands is a fantasy. Not the dream your father is chasing, which he thinks is his but will never be his).
