The Performance Gene

According to family lore, my great uncle John Petrone was an actor. Somehow his "performance gene" was passed on to my father, who at one time had seriously considered becoming an actor before he decided he preferred selling computer hardware. He still uses his "skill" to chat people up and *maybe* buy a lot of stuff they don't really need. It also rooted in me, the singer, who the other night sang a song about "Central Park Reservoir" to a room full of New Jersey hipsters (if you can be hip and live in New Jersey) at the Goldhawk Lounge.

Now apparently Great Uncle John's performance gene has manifested itself in, of all people, my daughter. Marta is the type of person who must *must* have all eyes on her in public. It happened today as we rode the A Train back from Rockaway Park. She worked the crowd, moving from person to person, waving, blowing kisses, saying "hi" and, when all else failed, screaming at the top of her lungs. And at that point, when she starts screaming, you just can't control her anymore. I tried putting my hand over her mouth, but it just egged her on more. What is the father of a little clown to do? Luckily, nobody got mad. Her fans were pleased.