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.
Glenn, you amaze me! Very nice story response to the prompt. Makes me want to go out and dance :)
ReplyDeleteGlenn, you have such an amazing gift for story telling, this is so good my friend.....:-) Hugs
ReplyDeleteI am reading this 20 minutes before I bring my daughter to dance class...her 10th year. Last year would have been her 10th year, but two weeks into the season, she dislocated, fractured and tore ligaments in her knee while in dance class. No recital last year. This year, she dances again, but a conflict with a school band trip means no recital once more this spring. Another year that the house lights won't dim or stage lights glare and I'm so disappointed. I know you'll never throw those shoes away and I understand why.
ReplyDeleteYou sweet man....loving on your baby's shoes. You get better and better over time. Good vintage you!
ReplyDeleteThanks for dropping by my blog and letting me know you were using one of my photo's. I'm glad you enjoyed them.
ReplyDeleteIt is so much fun to read the stories people make up about a picture I took. I enjoyed yours as well.
That was a wonderful post. You tell such a great story!
ReplyDeleteOh, sweet!
ReplyDeleteTold like a proud daddy with fond memories. Love it!
ReplyDelete:) priceless. truly does bring back many memories of my own...making me wonder...what did ever happen to that little dance school??? what a lovely tribute to fond memories.
ReplyDeleteWhat a touching story from visual stimuli. G;len, you do have a way with words, even if you don't want to admit that you're a writer.
ReplyDeleteFrom the ballerina-turned-attorney herself: BRAVO! This will continue to be one of the most special gifts you could ever give me. I am so lucky and blessed to have a daddy who understood why dancing was so special to me - and how it somehow continues to shape my life now even long after the shoes have been tucked away in their boxes. THANK YOU for supporting me then and now - the curtain call has always been for you and mom: I always searched your faces out of the audience, just as you searched for mine on the stage.
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