They Didn't Get the Part. Now What?

How to help your child turn disappointment into one of their most memorable experiences on stage.

Let's be honest — casting day can be tough. Your child walks in with stars in their eyes, picturing themselves as the lead, and then... they're in the ensemble, or they've got a smaller role than they hoped for. The car ride home is quiet. Maybe there are tears. And as a parent, you feel it too.

I've been there — not just as a director, but as a kid myself. And I want to share something I know to be true after 20+ years in youth theatre: some of the most magical, growing, full-of-joy experiences happen when a child takes a role they didn't want and makes it entirely their own.

Here's how to help them get there.

I have watched this play out more times than I can count. A kid walks into the first rehearsal with their arms crossed and their chin down. They're disappointed, and they're not hiding it. And then something shifts — slowly, then all at once. They find a funny moment, or a friend in the cast, or a bit of stage business they invented themselves. By opening night, they are beaming. By closing night, they can't imagine it any other way. It happens nearly every single show. And it never gets old to witness.

Here's how to help your child get there.

Trust the bigger picture

The director sees something you don't

Directors aren't assigning roles randomly. We see a kid on stage and think — "that one has something special for this part." Sometimes it's energy, timing, chemistry with another performer. The role you didn't want might be the one that was always meant to be yours.

When I was young, I wanted to be Snow White more than I have ever wanted anything in my theatrical life. I auditioned, I dreamed about it, I fully believed the role was mine. And then the cast list went up — and I was Happy. As in, Happy the Dwarf. I was devastated. But here's what my director told me: she cast me as Happy because Happy had the comedic lines, and she knew I could be funny. She believed in something in me that I didn't even see in myself yet. The first time that audience laughed — really laughed — at something I did on that stage, I felt something I never felt as Snow White in my imagination. It was electric. It was real. And I never forgot it.

There are no small parts — only small actors

Yes, it's a cliché. But I say it because I have sat through hundreds of shows and been absolutely wowed by performers in the ensemble — people who had no lines, no solo moment, and still stole every scene they were in. The audience notices. The director notices. Other kids notice.

Every moment on stage is your audition

Someone is always watching

I always tell my students: there is someone watching you right now. A parent in row four. Another director. A future cast-mate. Maybe even someone who will be your friend for life. Show them what you can do — not just when you have a spotlight, but every single second you're on that stage.

Build a backstory. Find the moments

Make the role uniquely yours

I once received a role I absolutely did not want — the "crazy lady" in Anne of Green Gables. I wasn't thrilled. But I told myself: make this one-of-a-kind. So I built a whole backstory for this character in my head. I created relationships with other characters that weren't in the script. I found little moments — a look, a gesture, a reaction — that made her feel real and specific and mine. By closing night, I loved that character. She became one of my favourites.

That's the challenge I want every child to take on: How can I learn something new in this role? How can I grow as a performer? Where is my moment — and how do I make it special? The kids who ask those questions are the ones who walk out of closing night performances glowing — not because they had the most lines, but because they gave everything they had.

The script is just the starting point

More opportunities are coming

I always tell my kids: the script is where we begin. Our version of this show will be unique — built around the real, specific, incredible kids who are in it. When I work with young performers, I work hard to make sure everyone has moments they're proud of. Because that's what this is all about.

A moment I'll never forget:

I once had a young boy in a show who didn't have many lines. He was disappointed — but he loved to breakdance. So we found a way to write in a breakdance solo just for him. You should have seen his face when we told him. You should have seen the audience when he performed it. That moment wasn't in the original script. It was created because he showed up, he stayed open, and he trusted us.The script is where we start. The magic is what we build together.

The director's one and only goal is for every child to do their best and feel proud of what they've created. And that audience filling the seats? They are not there to judge. They are there to cheer — for every single person on that stage, from the lead to the last child in the back row of the ensemble. They want to see your child have fun. They want to be delighted. Let your child soak that in and enjoy every single second of it.

I have seen it happen over and over again — a child who was disappointed at casting, who maybe didn't want to come to the first few rehearsals, who couldn't quite see what I saw in them yet. And then opening night arrives. And they perform. And the audience erupts. And they come offstage with the biggest smile you've ever seen. And when you ask them how they feel about the show, about their role, about the whole experience — they can't imagine it any other way.

That transformation? That's the whole reason I do this.

I know the disappointment is real, and your child's feelings are completely valid. Let them feel it. Give them space. And then, when they're ready, help them lean in — because what's waiting on the other side of that disappointment just might be the experience they talk about for the rest of their lives.