Well, I suppose I'll start from the beginning. I was four years old maybe. I went to Bright Horizons preschool in Massachusetts. I had lots of friends, and I loved to play with them. We used to take ballet there, but it was very simple, easy ballet of course. Like standing in first position, then jumping up, and we were done for the day. Ha. I can't help but laugh at that now.
My parents mostly remember the performance. It was to some Tulip song or something like that. All I know is that it had the word "tulip" in it, and I know the tune because my mom sings it all the time now. It's actually pretty cute. So was the dance.
Surprisingly enough, I can remember he dance. My memory of the performance itself is a little fuzzy, though, so I believe I'm going to make it up. Judge my writing skills if you wish. I happen to pride myself in them.
Okay, so here goes:
I stood next to Erin and Savannah, waiting for our teacher to finish introducing us to the "audience", which happened to be our parents and we happened to be performing in our small little school. Finally, after her long speech was finished, all the parents clapped. I caught a glimpse of my mom and dad sitting. They locked eyes with me. After a moment of their smiling at me, I hesitantly waved at them. They, and a few parents sitting next to them saw, and giggled a little.
My teacher came and stood next to the class. "Okay, now it's time!" At that, my group and I walked forward and arranged ourselves in a square. Then we heard the music. It went something like, "Tinka tinka tinka tinka....TULIPS!" During the "tinka" part, we would plie, and at the "TULIPS" we would jump high in first position, and land 90º to the right and repeat the whole thing again.
After our dance, we went off to the side. "Now, to finish, each of you have to do something on your own. Anything at all," my teacher told us.
I could feel my fear growing inside me. What should I do? And what if I mess up? That would be humiliating.
By the time it was my turn, I still didn't know what to do. So I did the only thing a four year old girl was good at. I squatted down, then did a forwards tumble. The audience cheered, my parents loudest of all.
Then came the surprise. Yeah, I know every single person got it, but it was a huge thing when you're that young. My teacher came and gave me a trophy. It was golden colored, and it was a ballerina standing on her toes and wearing a tutu. Oh, how I lust to wear one of those lead role tutus. I also got a ribbon and a certificate. This is completely off topic, but now, my little brother pronounces certificate, cerfititic. Isn't that so cute?
Anyway, I'd say that was the start of my dancing career. I had no idea then, that it would be so hard and gruesome to be a prima ballerina.
I stopped dancing for a while. For more than a while, actually. Three years later, when I was seven, I decided to do ballet. Until then, I'd been doing ice-skating. Not my thing. I could barely stand up on my skates, and I had been learning for how long exactly? I'd rather not say.
I stopped dancing for a while. For more than a while, actually. Three years later, when I was seven, I decided to do ballet. Until then, I'd been doing ice-skating. Not my thing. I could barely stand up on my skates, and I had been learning for how long exactly? I'd rather not say.
My parents presented the idea in front of me. They asked me if I would like to do ballet again, since I stopped skating. It seemed like fun back in preschool, so I acquiesced.
We examined two different dance schools. One of them was farther, but it seemed more fun and there were more brightly colored walls there. The other school seemed boring. Although, now that I reflect back on it, I'm sure that I would have been better off at that one. But I chose the more fun one, naturally.
The school was called Dance It Up. I made friends, slowly. I've always been a slow friend-maker. If that's a word. But let's just say I'm not outgoing.
However, that's not my point. At the end of the year, we had a recital, where each level performed. I was in level one the first year. But after the performance, my parents told me, "You were really good! You were probably the best out of the group!" Okay. Now I know you're think that of course I'd get that answer, they're my parents and their being nice.
But two reasons. One, my parents aren't like that. they'll inform me of every single one of my flaws, which includes whether my mouth stinks or not. (Don't ask. It's stupid.) They would never give me false praises just to be nice. Two, I have always been very good at telling when someone is serious and when they are not.
Okay, time out. Have you ever eaten a chocolate? It's a very depressing process. It's what I'm doing right now, while writing this. Do you know how distraught you feel, when you only have one square of a Hershey's bar left, and you're nibbling on it, trying to make it last forever? Not fun, I tell you. Ad it's terrible once you finish. I can tell you confidently, that anyone's thoughts are, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" At least that's how it is for me.
Back to the story. So yeah. I was told I was a better dancer than others who had been dancing since they were babies, when it was my first year. (I don't count preschool. Do you count doing a forward somersault ballet? I didn't think so.)
I didn't believe that, but I was proud, I guess. So technically you're supposed to be in a level for two years before moving up, but on the first level one class of the second year, they saw I was more advanced and moved me up to level 2.
We examined two different dance schools. One of them was farther, but it seemed more fun and there were more brightly colored walls there. The other school seemed boring. Although, now that I reflect back on it, I'm sure that I would have been better off at that one. But I chose the more fun one, naturally.
The school was called Dance It Up. I made friends, slowly. I've always been a slow friend-maker. If that's a word. But let's just say I'm not outgoing.
However, that's not my point. At the end of the year, we had a recital, where each level performed. I was in level one the first year. But after the performance, my parents told me, "You were really good! You were probably the best out of the group!" Okay. Now I know you're think that of course I'd get that answer, they're my parents and their being nice.
But two reasons. One, my parents aren't like that. they'll inform me of every single one of my flaws, which includes whether my mouth stinks or not. (Don't ask. It's stupid.) They would never give me false praises just to be nice. Two, I have always been very good at telling when someone is serious and when they are not.
Okay, time out. Have you ever eaten a chocolate? It's a very depressing process. It's what I'm doing right now, while writing this. Do you know how distraught you feel, when you only have one square of a Hershey's bar left, and you're nibbling on it, trying to make it last forever? Not fun, I tell you. Ad it's terrible once you finish. I can tell you confidently, that anyone's thoughts are, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" At least that's how it is for me.
Back to the story. So yeah. I was told I was a better dancer than others who had been dancing since they were babies, when it was my first year. (I don't count preschool. Do you count doing a forward somersault ballet? I didn't think so.)
I didn't believe that, but I was proud, I guess. So technically you're supposed to be in a level for two years before moving up, but on the first level one class of the second year, they saw I was more advanced and moved me up to level 2.
