‘I’m not a typical stage mother.’

Kathie Bretches made more than 50 trips from her Canoga Park home to a North Hollywood theater this winter in her real-life role as stage mother to her 8-year-old daughter. Alison Bretches concludes a 19-performance run at the Exchange Theater today as Belinda Cratchit in a U.S. version of “A Christmas Carol” set in the Depression.

When Alison was around 3 1/2 or 4, she said she wanted to be on television. I said: “Do you want to climb in the box and be in television?” She said: “No, I want to do what they do. I want to be on television and sing and do those kind of things they do in commercials and stuff.”

If your child asked to play T-ball, you’d go sign him up, and you don’t know what you’re getting into until you get there. So it’s the same type of thing. I really had no idea.

The interviews are hard, because they’re always after school. I pick her up at 3:15. We change her clothes in the bathroom at school. We jump in the car, drive to McDonald’s and then we’re on our way to Hollywood on the freeway at quarter to four in the afternoon, and you know it’s bumper to bumper sometimes. It takes us 45 minutes to an hour to get there.

Right now it’s real hard because of my MS. Multiple sclerosis is a disease that most people don’t understand. When I say I’m tired, there’s no comprehension as to what I mean by tired. My speech gets slurred, it just wears me out. Fortunately, I’m a real high-energy person and I trudge through it. But it’s hard.

There are four things you need to be a stage mother. First you need to be a little crazy. You need a Thomas Guide. You need a good car. And you have to be able to go with the flow.

“Stage mother” carries a bad connotation. When we started this play, one of the members of the cast said: “Oh, here we have the stage mother.” Well, now, five weeks down the road they know I’m not a typical stage mother. I’m in there working hard with them. If they need something done, I’ll do it.

One day I was helping Scrooge run lines and I heard that one of the ladies who’s a real good soprano took ill. I said: “If you need an extra soprano voice, I can blend in with the rest of them and sing.” So now I’m singing and putting the quilt on the bed, and tonight I’m going to learn how to do the fog when the ghost comes in.

This is an Equity-waiver play. The actors and actresses are all professionals, but they’re not paid for it. It’s live theater, so the experience for Alison is invaluable. She’s not just walking out in front of the camera, delivering her lines and walking off. She’s had to give up birthday parties and dancing lessons and piano lessons and Brownies. Her whole life right now is going to school, coming home, doing her homework, eating her dinner and going to the theater.

If Alison did a commercial and made $20,000, I would be thrilled. I obviously want to see results from what she’s doing, not only for her satisfaction but for mine too. We put a lot of miles and a lot of time into this, so I’d like to see some tangible results. But the kid doesn’t have to be out there knocking rocks making a paycheck or anything.

She has made maybe $600. My expenses far outweigh what my daughter has made at this point. Her money is sitting in a savings account. When she gets paid, she’s allowed to take a small amount to buy herself something. Then she gives a 10% tithe to her church, and what’s left over goes into the bank.

I don’t know how many interviews Alison has been on, but you will average 25 to 50 interviews before you get one job. One job! Four years later we’ve cranked out four jobs. I’m still plugging away. They call me at 3 o’clock and say be in Hollywood at 4:30, hey, we’re gone, we’re there. For us it’s worth it, because that’s what she wants to do and I enjoy it. It’s real fun.