When you’re a kid, you believe you can be anything. Astronaut, Olympic Athlete, long lost princess — no matter how far-fetched these aspirations might seem to the drab adult world, to a child, these are the dreams of possibility.

Somewhere around middle school, the limitations of reality come crashing in. No letter written in a foreign hand will be delivered to your mailbox, identifying you as royalty. You’ve been picked last for kickball teams more often than not — you’ll never be a Gold Medalist in any sport. The motion sickness you experience on the rides at the fair probably disqualifies you from space flight.

But kids are resilient. Out of the ashes rises a new hope: theater. In the spirit of the Vick’s commercial from the 1980’s, “I’m not a doctor, but I play one on TV,” a new curtain opens. As a theater kid, I could, at least for a little bit, achieve all my childhood dreams and more. Hollywood glamour was never the goal; it was the stage’s energy I desired.

Of course, such a goal required preparation. I enrolled in the Faxon School of Dance. Tap lessons were held in the backroom of the bowling alley. But no matter how many times I practiced step-back-ball change, I had the grace of a gutter ball. Recitals found me hidden in upstage corners and back rows. My mother’s seamstress skills and the need for costumes were the only reasons for the instructor’s encouragement.

Then, for a glorious moment, it seemed a dream had come true -my middle school was putting on a production of Peter Pan. Full of hope, I auditioned, ignoring the giggling as I warbled through “Happy Birthday to You.” My caterwauling didn’t even land me a part in the chorus. Despite not being able to sing, I could bark, and my mother could sew the costume, so I landed the role of Nana the dog. To this day, it is my lone theatrical credit.

And then there is the small detail of my speech impediment. Apparently, there weren’t many roles for a lisping preteen.

This trifecta of disqualifications may have kept me from the stage, but the pursuit instilled in me a love of theater. Which is why when Pendragon offered tours of its new home last week, I jumped at the chance. As the old A&P building seemed to be engulfed by construction, like many Saranac Lakers, I’ve wondered what lies behind the new walls. And now that I know — wow.

The complex is a jewel. While the theater itself is intimate, with “not a bad seat in the house,” the infrastructure is modern. The quirks that the former building was known for have faded into the past. The new home has a modern communication system, LEED certification, LED stage lights, and more. There is additional space for rehearsals and community use. Those of you who have been patrons during the last 40 years will be in awe of the transformation.

Pendragon is a British term meaning “Head Dragon,” focusing on the quality of leadership. True to its name, this theatrical company strives to lead the area in theatre arts. They have a full slate of shows planned, as well as presentations coordinated with the Adirondack Center for Writing. And because nothing in life is truly static, they are already thinking about greater possibilities for the future.

And because very little in life is free, Pendragon is still fundraising. Think about it like a new house, you move in, but you still need furniture. So do they. You love your new space but dream of improvements and additions. So do they. In the spirit of a housewarming, donations can be made at pendragontheatre.org/donate.

Meanwhile, the show will go on. The ribbon cutting is scheduled for the end of April. Season tickets should be available soon. The first production, a comedy, “Noises Off,” is slated for June.

And when the curtain rises, I’ll be right where I belong … in the audience.