I played clarinet for 15 years. I could carry a decent tune on it but ehh I definitely wasn’t applying for Julliard.
I took a piano class in college. My professor told me “you play piano like a clarinet player.” Pretty sure that wasn’t intended to be a compliment. I thanked her nonetheless.
I was a flag twirler in high school one year. The next year, they held try-outs even for existing members JUST SO THEY COULD KICK ME OUT. And they did. (In hindsight, it would’ve been brilliant had they just told me I twirled a flag like a clarinet player.)
As far as dancing goes, I am about as graceful as… well, the dorky ex-flag twirling clarinetest you sat next to in high school.
My husband played the cowbell in our college band. Let’s just say I didn’t marry him for his rhythm.
So when I first found out I was pregnant with a girl a few years back, I swore up, down and sideways that I would never sign her up for a dance class. NO DANCE CLASS. Because unless gracefulness was a recessive gene, she was surely screwed.
Co-workers tried for years. Family members tried. Even one of her specialists at the hospital tried.
“She’d love it!” they all said.
Sparkly, tulle-y, obnoxious dance outfits?
And, uhh… paying for all that?
Yes. But that’s micro-fashion.
Little lady would be welcome to host a kitchen floor dance party at any time (which she does. often.) but that would ever be as far as it went. Cause SOCCER. From the day we chose a name for this kid, I envisioned her with a ponytail, knee-high socks, and cleats. I never played soccer growing up but damn it, my kid would and it was be the cutest ever.
So imagine my dismay when I went looking for a 4-year old soccer program in my town and… no digs.
Gymnastics was out – we did that for a year but she gets too distracted with all the equipment. Music class would be fun but this girl needs to move and get that energy out. Oh, and – I work. Whatever she did would have to be on Saturday mornings. My options dwindled.
And then, I did something I almost never do. With anything.
Ugh! It’s a matter of integrity. I said NO DANCE CLASS and I don’t go back on my word.
But I went back on my word.
They told me to buy leotards and tights.
Put her hair up in a bun.
They told me to put her recital WEEK in June on my calendar now. (Week? I thought it was a day? Holy sh…)
What the what did I do? I can’t believe I caved.
For the record, she only made it two-thirds of the way through class on Saturday before completely losing her shiz. She ran to me, bawling her eyes out. I gave her a hug and said, “You hate it? Aww that’s my girl!”
(Yes, I’m bringing her back this weekend… sheesh.)