the_siobhan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_siobhan) wrote2013-05-08 12:20 pm
the_siobhan) wrote2013-05-08 12:20 pm
Entry tags:
the saga of the Great Ballet Recital Trauma
When I was about 7 or so - which would make my sister 5 at the time - my parents signed us both up to take ballet classes. The class had somewhere between six and 10 kids in it, all girls I'm pretty sure. I remember only that the teacher was a woman and that it took place in the basement of a church near where we lived. I don't remember who's idea it was that we take the classes, but I think I must have thought it was fun enough to keep going. My parents were pretty good about not forcing us to do activities when we didn't want to.
So yeah, long time ago, most of it lost in the fuzzy damp basement part of my memory. I know it must have been one of those "fun things for kids to do" classes rather than a professional organization geared towards churning out actual dancers where they make the kids do exercises until they cry. I do remember running around in a circle with the other girls, waving our arms up and down in time to the music à la Swan Lake. Silly stuff like that.
We'd been doing this for, I think, a little less than a year when one weekend my parents took us both shopping. They had us fitted for shiny pink leotards with sequins on them and matching pink ballet slippers. It was all very exciting. I was going to get to wear an outfit like a proper ballet dancer with a poofy skirt and everything. On the day that the outfits were packed into the car to go to class with us they took us to a hairdresser first, where our hair was pinned up into buns and they put real honest makeup on our faces like grown-ups wear.
No here's the key thing about this story. Our parents swear we knew what was going on. I promise you we had no frikkin' idea. My best guess is that permission slips went home and the teacher just assumed that our parents would read them to us. Meanwhile our parents assumed we had had been told in class. I think I might have had the vague idea that our folks were going to be sitting in on class that day to watch us, but Dee says she didn't even know that much.
So when they had us get dressed line up with the other little girls in a strange hallway instead of our usual church basement we had NO IDEA what came next. They trooped us out onto a stage and we dutifully took up our positions with the rest of the class. Then the curtain went up and we looked out into the audience and a million fucking people were sitting there staring back at us.
I froze.
Dee bolted off the stage like she was on fire.
My brain went into shock and I made it through the entire experience by numbly following what the other kids were doing, which meant Swan Lake featured one awkward ducking stumbling around the circle and waving her arms two beats after everybody else. When it was over I myself be directed around the crowds of kids and parents to be posed for the official photographer. Dee, on the other hand, flatly refused to go anywhere any adults asked her to, and did not hesitate to use tears to emphasise her position. Then we went home and took off the leotards and tiaras and that was the end of dance class for the rest of my entire life.
So yeah, long time ago, most of it lost in the fuzzy damp basement part of my memory. I know it must have been one of those "fun things for kids to do" classes rather than a professional organization geared towards churning out actual dancers where they make the kids do exercises until they cry. I do remember running around in a circle with the other girls, waving our arms up and down in time to the music à la Swan Lake. Silly stuff like that.
We'd been doing this for, I think, a little less than a year when one weekend my parents took us both shopping. They had us fitted for shiny pink leotards with sequins on them and matching pink ballet slippers. It was all very exciting. I was going to get to wear an outfit like a proper ballet dancer with a poofy skirt and everything. On the day that the outfits were packed into the car to go to class with us they took us to a hairdresser first, where our hair was pinned up into buns and they put real honest makeup on our faces like grown-ups wear.
No here's the key thing about this story. Our parents swear we knew what was going on. I promise you we had no frikkin' idea. My best guess is that permission slips went home and the teacher just assumed that our parents would read them to us. Meanwhile our parents assumed we had had been told in class. I think I might have had the vague idea that our folks were going to be sitting in on class that day to watch us, but Dee says she didn't even know that much.
So when they had us get dressed line up with the other little girls in a strange hallway instead of our usual church basement we had NO IDEA what came next. They trooped us out onto a stage and we dutifully took up our positions with the rest of the class. Then the curtain went up and we looked out into the audience and a million fucking people were sitting there staring back at us.
I froze.
Dee bolted off the stage like she was on fire.
My brain went into shock and I made it through the entire experience by numbly following what the other kids were doing, which meant Swan Lake featured one awkward ducking stumbling around the circle and waving her arms two beats after everybody else. When it was over I myself be directed around the crowds of kids and parents to be posed for the official photographer. Dee, on the other hand, flatly refused to go anywhere any adults asked her to, and did not hesitate to use tears to emphasise her position. Then we went home and took off the leotards and tiaras and that was the end of dance class for the rest of my entire life.