Dear Theatre Parent, Your Kid Might Not Want to Do Theatre, and That’s Okay

by Chris Peterson

I get it. You were born with the stage in your bones. You still get emotional during overtures. Maybe you met your best friends building sets after school, or your first real heartbreak came during the final curtain call of your last high school show. You know how theatre shaped you — how it taught you empathy, collaboration, resilience, and how to project from the diaphragm. Of course you want to pass that on. Of course you want your child to feel the same magic that you did. Why wouldn’t you?

But they don’t. And they might never.

They’d rather build LEGO sets. Or write code. Maybe they light up at a microscope or during a robotics competition or when they get to design a rollercoaster in a video game. You see their eyes sparkle in a completely different way than yours ever did in a spotlight. And every time you suggest a theatre camp or a student matinee or ask them if they want to try out for the school play, they give you that face. You know the one. Polite, but firm. Respectful, but not interested. It stings more than you’d like to admit.

So here’s the tough love: it’s okay.

Just because theatre changed your life doesn’t mean it has to change theirs. Your passion can be yours and still be valid, even if it isn’t passed down like a family heirloom. Sometimes, in trying so hard to replicate our own joy, we forget that our kids are here to find their own. The greatest gift you can give them is not the script to your story, but the space to write their own.

You might fear that they’re missing out. You might worry they won’t learn the lessons that theatre taught you: how to take a note without falling apart, how to stand up in front of people, how to listen and respond, how to trust your instincts. But take a breath. Life has a way of teaching those lessons regardless of the setting. Maybe they’ll learn them on a soccer field. Maybe through a coding class or at a science fair. Maybe through chess tournaments, animation software, or a part-time job at the local animal shelter. Different stage. Same skills.

Encourage creativity, absolutely. But let it take the shape that fits them. If they’d rather paint than perform, support that. If they’d rather build than belt show tunes, cheer them on. If they find their tribe not in the wings of a black box theatre, but in a robotics lab or a skate park or a digital editing suite, embrace it. Theatre people know better than anyone that every role matters. Your kid doesn’t have to play the lead in your show. They just need to find the one where they feel most alive.

And let’s be honest, sometimes this is also about fear. Fear that if they don’t love what you love, you’ll have less to share. Less in common. That your world and theirs might drift apart. But that won’t happen if you stay curious. Ask questions about the things they care about, even if you don’t fully understand them. Show up for their interests with the same enthusiasm you wish they’d show for yours. Kids remember that. It counts.

And who knows? Maybe someday they’ll come around to it on their own terms. Maybe they’ll decide to do crew for the school musical. Maybe they’ll take a theatre history class in college just to try something new. Or maybe they won’t. Either way, if you’ve raised someone who is curious, kind, confident, and willing to clap for others, then you’ve already done a standing ovation–worthy job.

Take a bow. Then let them take the stage — wherever that may be.