I’ve started going upstate every month for an overnight at my parents’ house. Sometimes it’s good, and sometimes it’s not. But it’s my family: the only one I’ve got. My mom and dad have come to every opening night of my performances, and I can always make out the precise ring of my dad’s chuckle from the audience. It’s gotten to the point when I write now, I know the lines he’ll find funny, and sometimes when I get writer’s block I imagine writing only for him, and I find it’s easier to keep going. On opening night this past weekend, my mother brought me a bouquet of red roses. Her hands were
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