Recite This

I  have a choice with this post.  I can just upload the photos, or use dance as a metaphor for some aspect of life, or I can say what I’m really thinking during Recital Week.

So, here’s what I’m thinking:  I don’t know if it’s such a big deal everywhere else, but where I live it’s the equivalent of a debutant’s ball or quinceanera.  Weeks worth of rehearsals that keep school girls up way past bedtime, parents paying costume and recital fees, and mom’s struggling with alterations and sequin applications, even if it’s a “non-costume year.”   Then, on recital night, relatives are charged to get in to see the performance.   I hear women carrying on conversations about it everywhere I go, sometimes accompanied with an eye roll, but they wouldn’t dream of not participating.  Neither would I.

We go to a more laid back studio that only does recitals every other year with rehearsal and performance all packed into one day for free admission, but that is uncommon.  Even so, my daughter leaned close to me in the dressing room, during the show, to whisper, “See, aren’t you glad you have a daughter like me?” with a smile.   It seems she’d been overhearing another girl from the studio go all diva on her mother.   I was grateful for a sweet tempered girl.  But I couldn’t help thinking that even my generous, sweet tempered girl, who was both nervous and excited, probably accepts this as routine.   Though she is not selfish, she probably didn’t feel grateful.  I mean, I didn’t feel grateful.  Tired- yes, grateful- no.