I began dancing at age 4 and took classes until I was a senior in high school, performing in my last recital at the age of 18. I took one year off when I thought I would do something else and all that resulted in was 1) me not doing that other thing, 2) missing dancing and 3) putting me a year behind the people I had danced with for 8 years. That final year was amazing because I finally got what I wanted throughout my entire dancing career up to that point: a solo. I danced a ballet piece to Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time" and it was just as amazing as I had imagined it would be with the spotlight just on me and my instructor/studio owner coming to hand me an amazing bouquet of flowers. I also had a tap piece with my class that year to Kenny Loggins' "Footloose" and that was also pretty awesome.
I just realized that it would appear to some that my senior year in high school was in the mid-80s but it was not. It was actually 1999 but I think we can all agree that the music of the 90s did not hold a candle to the music of the 80s when it comes to danceability.
Boyfriend's sister invited us to her daughter's dance recital this year and can I tell you how excited I am? I know, I know, it seems silly but after Christmas, recital time is the most awesome time of year for a little dancer (I say that like it wasn't still true when I was 18). For a whole weekend you get to dance in pretty costumes, wear makeup and get your hair done. If you're like me, then you didn't get to wear makeup at the tender age of 9, so this is a whole weekend of glamour comprised of blue eyeshadow, bright pink blush, and red lipstick and really, what more could you ask for than stripper makeup when your age is in the single digits? And that day in class when you knew you were getting your costumes? No one was concentrating on steps, form and turnout. No, you wanted nothing more in your life than to just hold those sequined Lycra and tulle masterpieces (that your mother hated because she hates to sew and the straps had to be affixed manually) as they sat there sparkling in a corner, taunting you with their beauty for a whole 45 minutes until you were finally allowed to get them and try them on.
Of course, your mother could also decide one year that the straps were not getting sewn on. Like Ben Franklin and his key kite, the brilliance came to my mom like lightning: VELCRO! We'd use Velcro on the straps. Seemed like a good idea at the time because this costume didn't have elastic to go with the straps (how stupid) so putting on a costume and taking it off when the sequined straps have no give is really a PITA. Velcro it is.
Well that year, I believe I was in 5th grade at the time, was the year we performed a tap routine to "
Splish Splash." Adorable. We even had prop towels to wrap around ourselves after we got out of our "bath." Those prop towels were also affixed with Velcro. When it came time to rip off our towels (like every 5th grade girl should be doing), all the stars aligned for my benefit and I gave the audience a thrill when I ripped the strap off as well. Flapping and bouncing about from the rhythmic motions of my awesome dancing, the sequined strap was a beacon, drawing your eye to the fat dancer in the back that already had your eye because she was a clear head over everyone else and larger costumes mean more sequins. How embarrassing, but I laughed it off. It didn't help that my ballet routine that year was to "It's a Small World." And I had incredibly thick bangs that were too long. Fate didn't even give me a chance that year.
That was the last year I danced at that Academy.
Two years prior to that, I messed up a Jazz routine--the one and only time I ever took Jazz. It might not have been hard to notice if it hadn't been when we were supposed to be doing moves on the ground and I was twirling about upright. I had never messed up a single step in a recital before that point. So clearly I wasn't meant for Jazz because I didn't mess up in Ballet, Tap or Gymnastics, right? I never took Jazz again, which is fine because I didn't fancy myself a future Broadway performer anyway.
The next year, my Gymnastics routine went amazingly wrong and my 10-year old self-esteem just couldn't handle it. My handstand-into-backbend, which I had performed extremely well all year, ended not in a backbend, but in a back flop on a very hard stage--legs sprawled out before me. At the end of the routine, 2 classmates were supposed to kick up into handstands while I grab an ankle of each and their other leg goes into passe (pointing the toe of one leg to the knee of the other-I was holding the straight leg, obviously). We added drama, excitement and a massive level of danger by doing this on a riser.
The girl on my right kicks up beautifully. Seamlessly, we executed the first half of the trick. The stupid bitch on my left, however, begins her move about a foot too far away and since I was already holding the girl's ankle on my right it's not like I could jump to my left and catch this girl's rogue kicking leg over which she had absolutely no control, ultimately leading to the demise of an already bruised routine. We missed. She was expecting to be caught so she continues to kick herself over to her intended handstand, never meeting that level of support on which she was depending to halt her upside-down rainbow kick. She just continued her horribly executed arching motion into a landing I never had the pleasure to witness. Still nursing my wounds from the previous year and suffering from obvious dance-related PTSD, I dropped the girl I was currently holding and ran off-stage.
I should probably mention that because of my height, I was always put on the top row of the riser.
So I dropped this girl who had done everything right and was patiently waiting upside-down for the music to end and the curtain to be drawn before suddenly finding herself falling down and eating 2 levels of stairs with her face as I'm running down the steps, maneuvering past other girls who were all in their final poses also patiently awaiting the end of the music and the drawn curtain, across the stage and out the door where my mother found me bawling in the hall while she was trying not to laugh. It was so traumatic. That was my last year of gymnastics. They had put us in a ridiculous jungle-themed Jane-the-Whore costume and had us doing our tricks to a Disney medley including the melodious sounds of Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah anyway so there were multiple straws that broke my camel's flexible back and ultimately ended my gymnastics career. I distinctly remember one of our first options being "Let's Hear it for the Boy" but that got dropped in favor of a Disney medley. It was doomed to fail.
I transferred to a studio closer to home that had recently opened and was owned by one of my favorite instructors at my other school. I never messed up there, even while en pointe. I did sprain my knee, though, so during our E.T. piece where I was supposed to cross the stage in leaps, I just had to run. Like, run across stage after all the beautiful leapers that preceded me. It looked stupid.
But really, out of my many, many performances, I had only those 3 tragedies so it was still a net gain of awesome. I loved it and I can't wait for Boyfriend's niece's recital.
If I may offer advice though: don't run off-stage if you mess up. You'll look stupid and your mother will laugh at you. And if do mess up, don't do it when it's noticeable like everyone else is on the ground and you're doing pirouettes, standing by yourself. And don't rip off your clothes. It's inappropriate and your mother will laugh at you.
My first recital: ballet and tap. There were so many magical things in that first year. The wand, the tiara, the feather, the...bitchin tambourine with streamers!
