It’s been well over a year since I signed up Aura for her first dance class. And almost a year since I blogged about my recital qualms, and then the ensuing recital hijinks. (Ah, hijinks. Entirely maladroit here, yet there is not nearly enough usage of hijinks these days. That and décolletage. Oh, and bamboozle. We need a lot more bamboozled décolletage, society. I’m not sure what that would involve, but I’m guessing Katy Perry.)
Since then, I’ve grown rather fond of our Friday dance-class schedule. This year we even threw tap into the mix, and the chaotic flurry of an armful of little girls frantically changing from whispery ballet slippers to loud, clacky tap shoes is pretty fun. I’ve finally sunk into the routine and had begun imagining this year’s recital: a natty little Gene Kelly-esque tap number, perhaps, followed by a watery, flowery snippet of Swan Lake.
I had plans to buy a Real Camera and everything. Get myself a new contact lens prescription so that I could actually see the stage. I had BIG plans. Epic. Huge, monstrous plans.
Then we went to class last Friday. As they greeted the kids, the teachers told them that the class would begin to rehearse its recital number that afternoon. A few minutes later, as I sat with the other mothers, the strains of an…oddly unfamiliar-familiar song drifted into the waiting area. Conversation came to a screeching halt.
Then one mother swallowed, loudly.”Is that…?” she started, unable to finish.
“Yes,” another mother replied. “My God. I think it is him.”
“Who?” I said, knowing only that this song did not sound like anything Gene Kelly had sung. IT WAS NOT NATTY.
A fourth mother slumped down in her chair, hands hopelessly splayed across her lap.
“It’s Barry Manilow,” she whispered.
Proof that you should NEVER LET YOUR GUARD DOWN:
I can tell you from experience that karate class is a Barry-Manilow-Free-Zone. However, they do instruct your child on how to scream LOUDER.
P.S. Maybe be thankful it wasn’t Mandy? Or something?
Not natty. Not natty in the least.
Know what’s natty? The Duck Tales theme song. And tiny bedazzled sailor suits.
Time to switch classes.
When Karly was five, I got suckered into signing her up for a year of the MOST GODAWFUL expensive dance classes in the history of Gene Kelly.
Her outfit was costly; her shoes a fortune; the classes? We may not be able to send her to college.
At the end of the year came the recital. It waas held at our town’s Civic Arts Plaza (no joke) so they could charge $25.00 a ticket. On Father’s Day. (We had to buy ten for the whole family, including grandparents. DANG it.)
But it would all be worth it. Yes, the costumes, the practices, the second-mortgage – all led to that special moment when the curtain went up and my daughter and her five-year-old cohorts gracefully performed (drumroll please…….)
The Chicken Dance.
It was over in ninety seconds.
And Karly takes karate now.
LOL that reminds me of my first little beans dance recital, similar story re:cost and crappy show time for an uncoordinated dance over in 90 seconds after which I leaned forward to the Mommy ahead of me and stage whispered “That just cost you $2 grand … “. But you know, each year I say no more dance and each year I cave as she loves the weekly classes and it is a good hour and a half of exercise. She also does karate … and piano, skating and swimming …. it is expensive but she still enjoys them all, none are competitive so low commitment, and I figure will help her figure out what to focus on when older. Besides we are Canucks she had to at least learn how to skate and swimming is non-negotiable. But I must say – piano concert WAY more enjoyable than dance recital and significantly cheaper!!
So, first question in dance class interview is “What is on the playlist that my child will be dancing to?” Who knew? I hope you’re switching before she’s scarred for life. Keep her there and she’ll know every word to Sweet Caroline soon.
Hee hee. Despite my Barry-induced shock, I do love this dance studio dearly. And so does Aura. It has a great atmosphere, and super teachers.
heheheh…the first concert I ever went to was a Barry Maniow concert, for my 13th birthday. (Yes, I am much older than you). Just to torture you I’m gonna tell you a little joke that Barry shared with the crowd that evening: you can make any song sound a little dirty by substituting the word “yours” for “you” in the lyrics. And then he went on to demonstrate with one of his very own songs: …and when, will I hold yours again…. My 13-year-old self would have felt a little thrill in my decolletage, had I had any.
You can defriend me now,I deserve it.
Seriously? Barry? Wow! Thankfully my daughters dance classes have yet to puu that one out of the hat.
That puu is pull, clearly. I should really watch what I write.