Debbie… Kate McKinnon
Mrs. Pine… Aidy Bryant
Mr. Pine… Kenan Thompson
Mrs. Obi… Ego Nwodim
Mr. Obi… Daniel Kaluuya
Nick… Andrew Dismukes
David… Chris Redd[Starts with a group of people walking to the living room after having a meal.]
Debbie: Wow, what a lovely meal this was.
Beck: Absolutely. This was my first time having Nigerian food and I must say, it is delicious.
Mrs. Pine: Oh. Hard agree. Pearl, you have to share that stew recipe with me.
Mr. Pine: Why? You know it’s not gonna taste the same when you do it. [laughing]
Mrs. Obi: Oh, come on. Linda, I am sure your stew will be very good.
Mr. Obi: Next time, she will make you a Ugandan dish. I’m the luckiest person because I get to enjoy her cooking every day.
Debbie: Well boys, you should be proud of yourselves. First year of college in the camp.
Beck: Now, I hate to be that dad but Nick actually won an award for his final project.
Nick: It’s nothing really. It’s just a piece I made in postmodern sculpting class.
Debbie: We actually brought it. [showing the sculpture.]
Mrs. Pine: Wow!
Mr. Pine: Kind of takes your breath away.
Mr. Obi: That’s fantastic. I’m proud to say I know the next Picasso.
Mrs. Obi: Yes. Nick, it looks like you’re going to be a famous artist some day.
Nick: Oh. Thanks, Mr. and Mr.s Obi.
Debbie: And how are things going over for you over at Drexel, David?
Mr. Obi: Oh, David is studying to be a medical doctor. We are very proud of him. Paging Dr. Obi.
Mrs. Obi: David, why don’t you tell everyone about your pre-med classes? He is excelling in chemistry.
David: Well, I actually changed my major to creative writing.
Mrs. Obi: You did what?
David: I changed my major to creative writing.
Mr. Obi: Creative who?
David: Creative write-ing.
Mr. Obi: God forbid.
Mrs. Obi: What is ‘creative write-ing’?
David: Something I’m really passionate about. I actually won the ‘Promising Young Writer’ award.
Debbie: Oh, that’s fantastic.
Beck: Nice, buddy.
Mrs. Obi: Oh, yes, very nice, buddy. And award? Can you pay your bills with an award?
Mr. Obi: Can you buy a house with an award?
Mrs. Obi: ‘Promising young writer’. Who promised you what?
David: When Nick said he won an award, you guys said he was going to be famous.
Mr. Obi and Mrs. Obi: We were lying.
Mr. Obi: Look at his ridiculous sculpture.
Mrs. Obi: This ugly thing. Very, very ugly. Mark my words. In two years, Mr. Picasso here is going to be a bag boy at Trader Joe’s.
Debbie: Hey! You know we’re right here.
Mrs. Obi: Debby, it’s true, honey.
Mr. Obi: Son. You are born to be a doctor.
Mrs. Obi: Yes. What kind of job will you get with creative writing?
David: I could be an author.
Mrs. Obi and Mr. Obi: No.
David: A journalist.
Mrs. Obi and Mr. Obi: No.
David: A professor.
Mrs. Obi and Mr. Obi: Hell no.
Debbie: Hey, those sound like great careers.
Mrs. Obi: No, Debbie. They’re not. [to David] You can become a doctor for 40 or 50 years, and then do your writing once you retire.
Beck: You know guys? The world needs poets too.
Mr. Obi: Yes. If there’s anything we have learned from the pandemic, it’s that the world needs more poets.
Mrs. Pine: I think it’s beautiful that you’re discovering your own interest, David.
David: Thanks, Mrs. Pine.
Mrs. Obi: Okay, Linda Pine. Why don’t you take him?
Mrs. Pine: Excuse me?
Mr. Obi: David is your’s now.
Mrs. Obi: Yes. Since you think it’s so beautiful that he won’t be a doctor, he can be your son.
Mrs. Pine: Oh, I don’t think–
Mrs. Obi: Oh! She doesn’t think. Hah!
Mr. Obi: So, you also don’t want a son that’s not a doctor.
David: Ma and dad, I’m just not passionate about being a doctor.
Mrs. Obi: Okay. If you really don’t want to be a doctor… You have to!
Debbie: You guys haven’t even read any of his written yet.
Beck: Yes. David, maybe you can read one of your poems.
David: Sure, I’d be happy to. [stands up] This poem, I won an award for. It’s called ‘My sorrow’. [opens a sheet of paper and starts reading]
I wake up and my emotions are as blue as blue paint[he sits down]
Mrs. Pine: That’s it?
Mr. Pine: You know, ain’t nothing wrong with being a doctor, David.
Mrs. Pine: Yeah.
Debbie: How about a toast? Here’s to Nick and David. To promising young artists.[Mrs. Obi and Mr. Obi are also raising their glasses, but they’re very pissed off. They break their glasses.]
Mr. Obi: Oh, no. We are bleeding.
Mrs. Obi: Oh, is there a poet in the house? Someone call a poet!
Mr. Obi: Call a poet!