When I was a boy, about 5 years old, right before my sister was born, my mother had taken me to a play that my father was in. A play called “A Raisin In The Sun”. It was at a little theater at the time called The Henry Street Theater. And we had arrived about 10 minutes late and the employee that inspected our tickets asked if we wouldn’t mind sitting in the mezzanine. He said that sitting in a front row reserved seat might disturb the performance. Thinking back, mother probably only agreed because she was partial to sitting in the mezzanine, especially when watching her husband.
