(Originally written February 2026)
Rain recently made it into the cast of a musical being put on by an illustrious local community theatre.
This is VERY exciting.
For me.
It is also very exciting for her. But this post is totally about me.
I am swimming, deep diving, doing the butterfly forward and backward in SWEET RELIEF.
Because who did not send her daughter to dance lessons? Or vocal lessons? Or theatre camps or summer intensives or anything that cost more than $2? And definitely did not send her to Iolani or Punahou even though, for a good decade, classmates and family and every teacher she ever had kept saying “ABSOLUTELY YOU MUST SEND RAIN TO IOLANI/PUNAHOU!”?
Me.
And it was not because I didn’t want to, I definitely really wanted to (though I do have complex feelings about private school, but that’s for another post), it was because I couldn’t afford… anything.
I really thought things would change by the time Rain turned 8. Or 10. Or 12. Or 14. Or, hells, even 16. Every year I was like “THIS is the year when I will no longer be impoverished!” But things changed at the pace they wanted to change. Which was slowwwwww.
So instead I encouraged her to take advantage of free opportunities, practice on her own, seek scholarship opportunities, and NOT believe she was behind and running out of time. “There’s plenty of time,” I would tell her. “You are not old. You can always catch up. Your potential is unlimited. Don’t worry about what the others are doing, your journey is your own and you can do anything.”
Those were the words coming out of my mouth, and while part of me believed them another part of me, on the inside where Rain could not see, was saying very different things.
While my peers’ children enjoyed dancing in high-ceilinged, sprung-floor studios dressed head to toe in Capezio or Bloch or bougie Ballet Rosa, Rain showed up in her Salvation Army fit to her school dance team practice on the sidewalk. Or on the grass field in direct sunlight with a single wisp of a tree. Or, if they were very fortunate, in the school cafeteria on solid concrete.
While my peers’ children worked with private coaches to develop perfectly pointed toes, I pointed Rain toward a YouTube ballet teacher who taught out of her tiny attic and used a wooden chair in lieu of a barre.
While my peers’ children took voice lessons to develop lowered larynxes, properly tilted soft palates, and clear diction, I gave Rain tips I learned twenty years ago in a college voice class.
While my peers handed over small fortunes to Iolani and Punahou, I looked through my pockets and bags for change so I could buy Rain socks.
Yay for everyone else’s children and goddammit for mine, and goddammit for it being all my fault.
Unrelated but related, two summers ago a friend of Rain’s asked her “Where are you going this summer?” and Rain said “Going? Oh, well, I’m catching the bus to Kaimuki to babysit? And maybe going to visit a house on the North Shore?” Hahahahaha. Ha.
Sigh.
Did I do Rain dirty and set her hopelessly behind? Should I have sacrificed my sanity? Should I have stayed in my miserable conventional job instead of trying to go it on my own? Was I the worst mother in the world? DID I FUCK IT UP FOR HER FOREVER?
Yes, I have been diagnosed with an anxiety complex. Thank you for asking. But I also think this is just sort of… motherhood.
In January Rain auditioned for the fancy theatre and was number 98 because the audition turnout was shocking. So shocking they doubled the number of dance auditions and had her sing at 9:30pm. Rain showed up to her dance audition wearing basketball shorts, a Spiderman jersey, and dirty sneakers while trained dancers did fancy ballet stretches in their leather character shoes and high-performance leggings.
She later told me “Everyone was wearing Lululemon, Mom. EVERYONE. And then they all changed into flowery dresses for singing. Except for me.”
Rain was armed with a headshot we made on Canva and a resume that said “I like to sing and I can do hip hop.” And this kid did her best. She tried with all her heart. She danced so hard she couldn’t turn her head the next day. She said the man in charge referred to her as Spiderman. She said the dance assistant gave her a thumbs up, but she didn’t know if it meant she did well or if the woman felt sorry for her.
And that was that.
Until Rain burst into the front room at 11:30pm to yell at Aileen and me “I GOT A CALLBACK FOR DANCE AND FOR THE LEAD!!! I GOT TWO CALLBACKS!!!.”
She did not end up with the lead, which we are all grateful for because STRESS, but she did get into the production. This untrained, inexperienced, I-don’t-know-what-a-lame-duck-turn-is, what-even-is-acting scrappy kid from Kalihi got in.
She got into the cast with the Punahous and the Iolanis and the folks who started taking ballet and voice at age 5 and the kids who grew up in the theatre’s luxe youth program.
And, people, this surely must mean:
And that Rain must have something special. Or the director has a penchant for underdogs.
But mostly that…
Would Rain be more equipped if she had led a more privileged childhood? Well, obviously. She might have landed the lead. She wouldn’t be scrambling to learn to dance, scrambling to learn to act, scrambling to feel like she deserves to be in this production.
However, I am beginning to suspect she might have some things money cannot buy. Like grit, like tenacity, like determination, like capacity to be uncomfortable, like immense gratitude and the ability to take none of this experience for granted.
And now that Rain is here, finally in a theatre, finally in a professional production, finally in the someday we talked about since she was seven? She knows she needs more training but trusts it will come in due time. She knows where she is, how very far she needs to go, and believes that with discipline and work she can get there. She knows that what opens for her in the future is up to her, that she is the creator of her life, and that luck is indeed when preparation meets opportunity.
So maybe not only did I not fuck her up, maybe I taught her something valuable? Maybe she is thriving not in spite of the life she has lived, but maybe, just maybe… because of it?
Love,
Angela
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