Hamilton at the Public

I’ve had this in my drafts for over a month because I’ve been thinking that long about how to convey how much this means to me, but I can’t, so I’ll just list a couple of details.

A few days into previews for Hamilton at The Public, a show that has been so ravely reviewed that it’s already got a Broadway move slated and damn near universal acclaim, my friends and I settled into the middle of the house for the best thing any of us had ever seen on stage. It’s as good as everyone says it is and more, and maybe when the soundtrack’s out and I can sit with it again, I can try to explain my version of why. I’m not sure I can right now though. But I can say the existential high five that leapt out of my best friends, from immigrant families both, toward the stage at Hamilton and Lafayette’s triumph – “immigrants, we get the job done!” – sums it up. It’s ours, this thing, in every way you can imagine that possessive pronoun.

And then when Hamilton is scribbling with all his might, in an honest-to-God stage adaptation of the Federalist Papers (which is not a thing anyone would have thought could be done), “writing like he’s running out of time,” ‘cause he is – and during intermission my friend looks at me and goes, that’s you – it’s mine, this thing.

All this after singing Lin’s first show In the Heights for several years straight, this thing that loved home as much as I do, it was a pile of emotions I don’t know how to write about, and writing is my thing, so I don’t know if that scares or excites me. I mostly just don’t feel the need to turn all this into something pretty. These words are for keeping in my pocket and carrying around on the rough days, and I have a lot of them at the moment.

So let me explain the stage door afterwards: I’m the first to ask Hamilton to sign the Hamilton on the $10 and I feel pretty cool about it; Lin Miranda thinks my Les Mis phone cover is “dope”; also he owes the Internet the Hamilton cast’s mashups with Les Misérables; I told him I want to write history so this means the world to me; he said thank you and chatted for a while with everyone and meant every word he said.

I’m just writing it down so I remember it. I feel like I’m running out of memory space more than time.


Published by Catherine Addington

I am a translator from Spanish to English and a writer on saints, myths, and icons in both religious and secular contexts.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create your website with WordPress.com
Get started
%d bloggers like this: