Beauty & the Beast of a Weekend
Another year, another dance recital. Small child has been dancing with her studio since she was 7. She is 13 now...you do the math. This year was different though. This year she is in two placement classes. For the non-dance moms and dads out there this means that she was deemed good enough to dance long hours and put her little body through torture until she is bruised and beaten to look amazingly beautiful on stage for about 5 minutes of an hour-long recital. And, not to be outdone, small child smiles and gleefully goes to practice twice a week every week an hour from home each way to willingly put herself through this because "I dance. And this is what dance does to you."
Now, as a parent, you would think that I would not be pleased when my daughter gets in the car and I notice bruises lining her shoulder blades. Or, better yet when she is sliced from knee to ankle from a stage prop and told to "suck it up we have a show to do." But, she is at an age where she is old enough to decide what is important to her and what she is willing to put up with and subject herself to. The bruises faded and the cut is healing nicely...and she danced for two hours last night with all of the advanced dances and belonged with them. They are a family. The dancers range in age from 12 to late twenties. They take care of each other, they grow together, and they dance...Y'all, they dance.
My baby girl will never be a professional dancer. But, that was never the goal. Small child began to dance as a way to deal with her world being turned upside down with a move, divorce, and new school. Her dance teacher is a friend of the family and loves the girls she teaches. Little bit knows how her body moves and is unusually put together and graceful (trip during rehearsal aside) for a girl her age.
This year the recital was Beauty and the Beast. And it was my husband's favorite out of all of the shows they have done. My daughter was a guest at a ball where the beast would be cursed. She was the visual symbol of his despair upon finding and sending away love. She was fear and sorry and grace while wearing a Marie Antoinette style wig and glorious red tutu and then agony and loss while dancing through a wardrobe malfunction.
Small child is growing up. And nowhere in our lives is it more evident than when she takes the stage to dance. I both love and hate these moments. But, how could I tell my tiny dancer to slow down and not become the young woman she is meant to be? I guess the pain is worth the beauty. And she is beautiful.
Now, as a parent, you would think that I would not be pleased when my daughter gets in the car and I notice bruises lining her shoulder blades. Or, better yet when she is sliced from knee to ankle from a stage prop and told to "suck it up we have a show to do." But, she is at an age where she is old enough to decide what is important to her and what she is willing to put up with and subject herself to. The bruises faded and the cut is healing nicely...and she danced for two hours last night with all of the advanced dances and belonged with them. They are a family. The dancers range in age from 12 to late twenties. They take care of each other, they grow together, and they dance...Y'all, they dance.
My baby girl will never be a professional dancer. But, that was never the goal. Small child began to dance as a way to deal with her world being turned upside down with a move, divorce, and new school. Her dance teacher is a friend of the family and loves the girls she teaches. Little bit knows how her body moves and is unusually put together and graceful (trip during rehearsal aside) for a girl her age.
This year the recital was Beauty and the Beast. And it was my husband's favorite out of all of the shows they have done. My daughter was a guest at a ball where the beast would be cursed. She was the visual symbol of his despair upon finding and sending away love. She was fear and sorry and grace while wearing a Marie Antoinette style wig and glorious red tutu and then agony and loss while dancing through a wardrobe malfunction.
Small child is growing up. And nowhere in our lives is it more evident than when she takes the stage to dance. I both love and hate these moments. But, how could I tell my tiny dancer to slow down and not become the young woman she is meant to be? I guess the pain is worth the beauty. And she is beautiful.
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