Back in March, my daughter was asked to work as a background actor on a show called Young Sheldon. She loves being on set, and I love craft services, so we went together on another daddy/daughter adventure.
I didn't know Jon Favreau was directing this pilot. Nor did I know Jim Parsons would be on set. The former is as professional as they come, but he showed a tender side in working with kids. After lunch, he flipped through a Spot-It deck with a couple of the child actors. Cool.
And Jim Parsons said hello while I was watching my daughter in a scene. He was kind and so unassuming. He showed respect to all.
But the story I want to share is about an adult background actor named Chris. I didn't learn his name until midway through the day. I barely talked to him the first several hours as my daughter went through wardrobe, hair and makeup, and then shuttled to set in Burbank.
Chris kept to himself. I would catch glimpses of him standing off on his own staring into the distance. He didn't seem standoffish or rude -- just disinterested in the ten or twelve other background actors, the handful of parents accompanying their littles, and the various crew that waltzed in and out of the trailers and tents that make up a television shoot.
I don't remember how or when the conversations with Chris started, but I do remember just a touch of uneasiness as he seamed more interested in talking with my 12-year-old than with me. He wasn't saying anything remotely disarming, but in today's world, a father's guard is always up. But the more Chris talked with the kids and, as he grew more comfortable, the adults, the more I learned what an amazing man I was talking to.
In his mid-40s now, Chris joined the army in his 30s. He was the oldest member of his squad in basic training. He took artillery shrapnel in his head and other parts of his body and witnessed friends die in war. He readily acknowledged that his mind wasn't functioning correctly anymore.
What could I do other than thank him profusely for doing something I could never do? I've been having more and more conversations with veterans lately, it seams, and it amazes me just how removed I am from the horrors these brave men and women have endured. And they all underplay what they've been through.
Chris didn't dwell on his own story. He shared only what was pried out of him by his newfound Young Sheldon friends. What he did was look me in the eye, many times, and tell me he believes in me. I'd shared enough of my story with him that he should have told me what a foolish dreamer I was. Instead, he encouraged me. Sincerely.
So why does Chris's opinion matter? Is this a case where the audience hears what it wants to hear and applauds loudly just because it is appeased? After all, we tend to repeat the opinions with which we agree and dismiss the ones with which we don't.
Well, the point of this writing is not what Chris said to me, but what I witnessed later in the day.
After shooting a scene, Chris found his way to a somewhat-isolated chair in holding, which on this particular day, was the backyard of the Burbank house which serves as the exterior of Sheldon's Texas home. Chris sat down, put his head in his hands, and cried.
I put my hand on his shoulder, "You alright, man?"
He nodded and looked at me, unable to speak clearly.
"It's good. These are good tears," he struggled to get out.
I smiled back at him through a tear as he added, "God is good."
After a few moments, Chris went on to tell me that being on a TV show was one of his bucket list items and that this was the one and only background gig he would likely ever do. Post-war, his life is forever compromised, but on this day, at this very moment when I continued to hold my hand on his shoulder, I watched in admiration as a grown man cried tears of gratitude.
"Don't stop believing," was one of the last things he said to me before he was released.
We didn't exchange phone numbers or connect on Facebook or Instagram. I rarely do that with folks I meet one day on set. But I wish I had connected with Chris beyond that day. Frankly, I could use his encouragement again.
For those that watch the pilot episode of Young Sheldon premiering tonight (September 25) on CBS, watch for the man mowing his lawn across the street from Sheldon's house. That's Chris. He's a war hero who had a dream of being on a TV show. Like my bike-riding daughter, he'll likely be blurry if he's seen at all, but you and I know he's there. And we know how much it meant for him to be Sheldon's neighbor mowing his lawn in his overalls.
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