The Dance Recitals

There were many.

I took dance lessons from the ages of 5 to 11. I've never been much for being a part of a public display. During parties, I'm the quiet one in the corner or hiding behind the snack table. I'm more of an observer, never really wanting to be in the spotlight. I often feel invisible; not so much in a "I'm feeling sorry for myself because no one notices me" sort of way, but in a "Leave me alone, I'm preoccupied" sort of way.

But everyone likes to be applauded. And somehow when I was dressed from head to toe in tights, feathers and 80's sequins, I became what every little girl dreams of becoming...

A star.

My parents always made such a big deal out of attending every performance. They sat through hours and hours of practices. I was one of the lucky ones. I had many classmates who had the infamous "stage mom's", covering their entire faces with too bright blushes and lipsticks, making them watch how much or how little they ate. It was never anything as crazy as "Toddlers and Tiaras", but it was still foreign in my world. My parents wanted me to have fun and not get caught up in being the best or the prettiest.

Dancing was the only thing back then that made me feel like a girl. I was a tom boy who much preferred wearing holey jeans and planning the next mud pie attack on my older brother. I didn't mind getting dirty or playing basketball with the rest of the neighborhood boys. I felt weird and anything but pretty on Sunday mornings when my Mom would curl my hair and put me in a dress. I found myself counting the seconds until I would be able to put on regular clothes again....unless it was a leotard and then I wanted to shine and twirl and be just like any other little girl. 

In retrospect, I was one of the best in my acrobatic class and I reveled in being good at something. I have a memory of switching dance teachers and having to audition for which class I was to be put in. Another one of my previous classmates was auditioning with me and we were both very nervous, not so much about which class we would be put in, but whether or not we would be placed together.

After the audition, Ms. Pam, one of the instructors, took me aside and simply told me that I was better than my friend but that I could have the option to stay in a lower ranking acrobatics class or move up to the next level. This was the first big decision I remember ever having to make without asking my parents to make the right choice for me. Believe me, I tried, but they declined and told me it was my call.

Well crap. How was I supposed to make such a HUGE decision as a 10 year old? Didn't they know that if I chose poorly, my life would be ruined? It was too much pressure and I hated that I would have to choose between my dance "career" and my friend.

In the end, I chose dance and took the opportunity to learn more in the higher level class. My friend and I became only acquaintances in passing after that and I never fully recovered from the aftermath. I felt guilty for not staying with her. In looking back, I think it was probably my own guilt that kept us apart. I had built up this whole big scenario about how she must have hated me after ditching her when in all reality, she probably never really knew the details behind the situation.

I continued to learn new tricks and soon became the best within even the higher level group. My mom would always drive me to practices and afterwards, we would stop at McDonald's for a chocolate milkshake...that is, if I felt I deserved one. This was based on how well I felt like I had done during practice. If I didn't feel like I had done my best, I would decline the milkshake. Though there were times when I caved and my Mom would talk me into needing a treat to make myself feel better.

That's what mom's are for right?

It was soon after that first year of the new dance class that I began to suffer with my body image. Perhaps it was the too tight, bright pink uni-tards that left nothing to the imagination, but I began to become ultra critical about how I looked in anything. Suddenly, I began to decline the chocolate milkshakes for a whole different reason.

There were other changes in my life too. It was during this time that I was starting to notice some tension between my parents and I was getting ready to start middle school as well. Many of my friends and I were separated once we went to sixth grade and I was suddenly reminded of the decision I had made between dance and my one friend I had left from my previous dance class. How could I be so selfish as to give that up for something I was already starting to lose interest in? What was I thinking?

My performances began to falter from all of the stress I was undergoing between school ,my parents, friends and the never ending fear that I was soon going to have to start wearing a bra. I think I was the only sixth grader in the history of middle schoolers who was diagnosed with a stomach ulcer just from worrying alone. I started to notice boys but never in a million years would I have had enough nerve to ask one of them out, let alone even say "hello". I chose to be oblivious of the fact that they were starting to notice me too. I was too naive back then to think for one second that any one of them might have been interested in me. I was the shy, short, still slightly under developed pre-teen, caught between wanting to run around barefoot and climbing trees in the backyard after school and discovering "Teen Beat" and make-up.

I remember learning a new trick called a "flop", which is like a front handspring, only instead of landing on your feet, you land on your heels then "flop" on your butt with legs stretched out. I was the first to get it right and secretly loved the attention in being so. I ignored the pain in my heels and ankles. I would sometimes be walking to class and just fall down. I often attributed this to my well known clumsiness. I didn't want to admit that I was really in pain. The other girls started to catch up with me in their progress and I was no longer the best.

My Mom began taking me to physical therapy to help my heels and my knees. I had to get special tennis shoes to help support the arches of my feet. (I've always kind of walked like a duck and wear shoes out quicker than any normal human being would.) I was awkward and felt like a foreigner in my own skin. Front handsprings and cartwheels soon got pushed to the back of my mind. I felt like a klutz no matter what I did and though I was almost a different little girl when given a ballet bar or a gymnastic matte, I somehow convinced myself I couldn't do it anymore. More so, I convinced myself that I didn't want to do it anymore.

So I quit.

I threw it all away because I no longer felt pretty and special in the spotlight, adorned in spandex and sequins. I wasn't a cute little girl anymore who shook her little tush in front of an audience. I was a freak and had no interest in flaunting it.

I think there will always be a part of me that regrets giving up on the dream of one day appearing on center stage just because of my lack of self-esteem. I wonder how much further I would have gotten should I had just shrugged it aside and accepted the fact that every little girl goes through such changes. I so badly wanted to hold onto my childhood. The next stage in my life crept up on me and I wasn't prepared. I wasn't ready to pack away my  barbie house and cabbage patch dolls. I wasn't ready to have a "big girl" room or be worried about when I was going to start my period or staying up late, watching the phone, willing it to ring and hearing the boy I liked voice on the other end.

I wasn't ready to grow up. I'm not sure any of us ever are...

Sometimes, it's just nice to hold on to the memory of something good; the time when your parents could do no wrong, before you realize that they are only human too. A time when your worst fear was whether or not you saw your schools name flash across the t.v. screen, letting you know if you had the next day off for a snow day. A time of innocence and freedom that I think we all took for grated in some way or another.  A time before things got complicated.

"I was a kid that you would like
Just a small boy on her bike
Riding topless, yeah
I never cared who saw
My neighbor come outside
To say, "Get your shirt,"
I said "No way, it's the last time
I'm not breaking any law"
Dar Williams