Raureti Ormond reflects on growing up gay in a rugby family, and how his relationship with his Pāpā inspired his new show, Grass Roots
So far, most of my creative practice has been steeped in my love of musical theatre, a form that lends itself to glamour, spectacle and beauty. But with my new show ‘Grass Roots’, I wanted to challenge myself: to get a little bit ugly, a little bit “rougher” and to confront something I’ve needed to for a long time.
To grow up in Aotearoa is to know the sound of chanting as the teams go to battle on the living-room television. Beer-stained condensation escapes from the mouth as everyone gathers on the sidelines on a cold winter’s day. At intermediate school, we even had “All Black”-themed mufti days to celebrate us taking home the World Cup. Whether you love it or not, rugby lives in every home, school and workplace in New Zealand. From berg to burrow, city to sea, there’s just no escaping it.
I’ve been raised in a world where rugby was our lifeline. Quite literally, it put food on the table and a roof over our heads. My dad played a great game, becoming one of the lucky ones who could pursue his rugby career professionally. His name is Wayne Ormond. People say he was a cult hero of NZ rugby in the 2000s. Apparently, he was pretty good… but I wouldn’t be the best judge of that.
Growing up, we spent our weekends at the stadium or the clubhouse, amongst crowds of spectators. They all seemed so invested in what was happening before them. But my young eyes were always disengaged, daydreaming of some far-off Pixie Hollow. When the final whistle would blow, all the other young boys would crowd the sidelines while I was gunning to get home and tend to my Polly Pocket collection.
The other boys I was surrounded by all started taking after their rugby-playing fathers. They got strong and fast, while I was more sensitive and soft-spoken. We’d go to the park, and the rugby balls would come out. We’d play piggy in the middle, and I was always the little pig who couldn’t keep up. They all dreamed of becoming like their dads while I dreamed of making it on Broadway as Fantine in Les Misérables; I still hold out hope.
As the years went on, I was constantly met with questions like, “What position do you play, son?” or “Are you just as good as your dad?” In fact, I couldn’t tell you the difference between a ruck and a scrum.
For me, rugby became the image of grief and expectation. But it was also the image of my pāpā. My kind father has always loved me without condition. He drove me to choir practice and drama rehearsals. He now sits at every one of my shows with a proud smile on his face. He recently came to the opening weekend of ‘Māreikura’, a theatre show where I was not Raureti but my drag alter ego Pānia. Isn’t that awesome!?
I, just like my dad, have had the opportunity to live out my wildest dreams in front of big crowds. Despite the odds being stacked against us, we’ve both done it.
Grass Roots is a show that I’ve written as a love letter to my Pāpā and as a convergence of both our dreams. It explores the many ways in which rugby has taught me the true measure of what it means to be a man and celebrates the way my dad and I are the same. I may not have a number on my back, but I wear his last name with pride.
Grass Roots will be performed at Auckland’s Te Pou Theatre on Wednesday 16 September and Wellington’s The Hannah on Friday 18 September
