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The last time I was home, I came across some pictures from a preschool ballet production from 1990 or 1991. Unbeknownst to the casual viewer, somewhere on that stage was a boy living a nightmare. It wasn’t the fact that I had wet myself that day during nap time (a humiliation that included changing into a pair of the preschool’s “oops” pants, which were bright blue, baggy, and let everyone else know that you’d had an accident), or the large bee that had chased me around the yard during recess. It was what I was wearing.
If clothes make the man, I was a little girl on that fateful night. My parents have always insisted that us kids invest ourselves in extra-curricular activities. In elementary school, I played T-ball and soccer in the city league. In middle school, I ran track and cross country and played trumpet in the band. It was the same in high school, and I eventually earned the rank of Eagle Scout in the Boy Scouts as well. But before all that, my parents had cast onto me the ultimate preschool embarrassment. They put me in ballet class. I was the only boy. I had to wear a form-fitting leotard and white ballet shoes. With my spindly little body and oversized head, I looked just like a Pez dispenser, except this Pez dispenser was expected to do a ballet dance on stage in front of an auditorium full of people.
From the house to the theatre was a blur of rain, traffic lights, and some lovely insults from skateboard-bearing teenagers directed at the boy in tights. By the time I was backstage, I was feeling about as good as you’d think I would, and when the show started I was so humiliated that I really just didn’t care anymore. It was short and painful, consisting of slow piano music, about twenty tutu-clad girls and one boy in tights meandering about the stage with no real synchronisation or harmony. The movements had been marked on the stage floor in white tape, which looked a lot like an NFL playbook, but that didn’t stop us from spinning off cue, falling down, bumping into one another, or staring off into space and picking our noses.
I burst into tears when I was reunited with my parents, who seemed shocked that putting their son onstage in front of a crowd of parents and teenagers while dressed in a leotard might be upsetting to him. In vain, my dad tried to lighten the situation:
“Why don’t we go out to dinner?”
“No, I don’t want to.”
“Why, because you’re dressed like a girl?”
Needless to say, I was unhappy for several days after. It would be a long time before I would trust my parents with anything again.
(the previous scenes)
I’m sorry for laughing Frank but that was the funniest post you have ever written. We have all suffered at the hands of our parents, but my man, you receive the top prize. Gotta love your Dad, he told it like it was. I hope someday the trauma will leave you.
So, now I see the reason of why you don’t dance. You have a childhood traumatism!!I’ll never forgive my parents for attempting to put me in cooking lessons. I burnt and cut myself so much, I’m still terrified.
TGYDBHTM: Haha, well enough time has passed that I can look back on it and laugh as well. I’m glad my trauma is entertaining to all
Andy: Yes…and that’s why I do not dance unless I am very drunk.
where are the accompanying photos?
Hopefully destroyed by now.
This was funny. I want to see pictures. I hated ballet too, but I liked the recital outfits. I’m sorry about this traumatic event. Let me know if you ever need to talk…
If I find any pictures while I’m home for Christmas, I’ll put them up.Also, thank you for your therapy offer…I may have to take you up on that
You may not find any pictures because I have saved up all the humiliating pictures of you. On another note I have a special slide show for when you get married…..
At least there aren’t as many childhood pictures of me running around naked as there are of you.
Wow. Thats pretty bad!
That’s what I’m sayin’
Will I be seeing you in the role of SugarPlum Fairy in this season’s production of the Nutcracker???;)
Well, you would, but sadly my legs can no longer fit into my tights.
That entire thing just made me sad
It made me very sad too.
Ohhhh, that is bad. I am sorry.
Mandy: Yeah…even now I have a strange fear of ballets.
That’s horrifying. You poor child.If your Dad thought you were dressed up like a girl, could we say he didn’t really want you in ballet class, either?
Your timeline cracked me up! =D