Today Septembermom http://myvoicemyview.blogspot.com/ "pointed" me over to Write With Pictures http://www.writewithpictures.blogspot.com/ with her post. The photo was the prompt for a Tuesday short story. My youngets daughter (middle daughter's story is almost finished) popped into my mind. She was the ballerina. This is my entry for the phot prompt. Please drop over and check their blog out, and thanks to Septembermom for the tip.
Get The Point?
“Oh daddy, throw those old smelly, worn out things away.”
Holding the tattered shoes that once were shiny and pink, now torn and scuffed to the point of being tread bare, I place them back into the box in which they arrived.
Her first pair looked like doll shoes. She was just a doll. Hardly in school but she wanted to be a ballerina. Perched on the edge of the theater seat watching for the first time what would become an endless stream of dancing toy soldiers and sugar plum fairies, a determination was being forged; A determination that would be the vehicle to carry beyond the colored stage lights and grease paint.
Blisters on top of blisters compounded with swollen and aching joints became the norm. Practices when most of the other kids were home or doing other recreational activities was the daily routine. Hundreds of hours preparing paid its dividend when the house lights dimmed and the stage lights glared. Smiling through pain was masked in the twirly whirl of satin and lace. Snow scenes to sword fighting mice. What a spectacle; a spectacle not so grand as to be able to hide the one small face that was continually sought by gleaming parents.
Hardwood floored dance studios have been replace with wood paneled walls and black robes as the halls of determination. Still just as intense and crisp but a different arena. But now, as the show starts to begin, the program announcer invitation has changed from “all be seated” to “all rise”.
Throw those old smelly things away?...Don’t even touch ‘em.