My performance reminds people of my dad. It's why I want to retire the character I invented

This First Person column is written by Rudy Kelly, an author and host of the new CBC podcast The Urbariginal. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

"You're just like your dad." 

It's a line I've heard many times, often after a performance. But I have mixed feelings about the comparison.

I am Rudy Kelly, a Tsimshian playwright, author and a performer. On stage, I've been in musicals, dramas and comedies, playing characters like Pontius Pilate in Jesus Christ Superstar. At the end of a run, I've always been able to put the character away and walk out into the night.

Then along came Chad Estrada. 

I invented Chad 30 years ago when the local theatre club in Prince Rupert, B.C., held a lounge night. Chad is a washed-up lounge singer who doesn't know he's washed up.

He wears a shiny blue blazer, a white shirt and black bow tie. He has tinted glasses and slicked back hair, and sings old classics like My Way and Can't Help Falling in Love. He also re-purposes old standards like Drive by The Cars, singing, "I can't go on without the cream corn — oh-oh, who's gonna fry baloney tonight?" Chad does cheesy monologues that get big laughs.

As Chad Estrada, I have performed at Indigenous events all over B.C. The crowd never seems to get enough of the schtick. Closer to home, when I'm performing in a local village or in Prince Rupert, the elders often come up to me. They look deep in my eyes. But I know they don't see me; they're looking for my dad.

Libby Henry Kelly, my father, was a powerful leader and a chief of the Tsimshian Allied Tribes. He was also an entertainer. Like me, he loved the stage. He played the trumpet with the Tsimshian Marching Band, and he sang and played guitar for a number of bands, including Kelly's Combo. He was out every weekend performing on the cultural stage or at a local bar. 

You'd think I would appreciate the comparison to my dad. He was a great entertainer and beloved among Indigenous people across the region. After his death, hundreds of people attended his funeral, and even more joined a public march to remember his legacy as a great chief and performer. 

My father heard me sing once and complimented me on it, but he never knew Chad. I think he would have loved him.

But I have mixed feelings, because I know a side of Henry Kelly they did not: the selfish and abusive one. He was violent with us kids and, more heartbreakingly, with my mom. After my father's death over 25 years ago, I tried to forget him because of all the bad things he'd done to me and to my family.

But Chad won't let me forget my father — even though Chad is so different. He's goofy. He wouldn't hurt anyone and makes as much fun of himself as he does of others. I get numerous requests every year for him to perform at events like an elders' luncheon or a staff Christmas party. 

I think it's because Chad takes the harms that we suffered through colonization and gives us a chance to laugh at ourselves, and at the outside forces that brought about so much cultural destruction. Kind of like my dad — he too managed to walk the line between fighting to save our Tsimshian culture and providing a much needed distraction through music and comedy, inspired by the great performers like Elvis Presley and Red Skelton.

These days, as the elders search my face for my father, Chad Estrada feels less and less funny. He's a reminder of the shadow I live under. I don't tell my dad's fans about his abusiveness because I know what they have been through — the horrors brought on them by colonization and residential schools. Why tarnish their good memories? Why tear down their hero?

I am contemplating retiring the act to end the comparisons. I'm tired of Chad and my dad getting the credit for what I do. I want to show the world that I am not just a chip off of the old block and that I'm not just a made-up character. 

I am Rudy Kelly, a singer and comedian. And, by golly, a writer and, now, a podcaster too.

I want to be me.

I know that I can never completely shed the legacy of my father. And Chad will probably keep showing up like the washed-up act he represents. 

But I need to keep them backstage, waiting in the wings. When I need them, I will reach inside myself and summon the best parts of them, for me and for anyone else who still needs my dad and Chad Estrada.

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