The Muffed Dance

Teri was 5. As younger siblings do, she looked up to her oldersister, the dancer, in a big way. Sara was 4 years older and wasexcelling in ballet, tap and jazz.

So we enrolled Teri in the same dance school and she reallyseemed to enjoy the lessons and her new friends. She was now, ofcourse, a dancer, like her sister. And Teri very much looked forwardto the climax of her first dance season, the year-end dance recitalthis school put on.

If you've ever been a dance parent, you of course realize that theobligation is quite large. Aside from the weekly lessons, scheduledon different days in our case, there is the extra investment of timeand money preparing for the 'big event' - extra lessons andrehearsals, fittings for the completely different head-to-toe costumerequired for each dance number and a parents meeting for eachdancer to make sure everyone was on the same stage come recitalnight. Baseball parents have it easy!

As fate would have it, Teri had surgery to lengthen her heel cord afew weeks prior to her dancing debut. But that didn't stop her fromlugging around the heavy cast trying keep up with the otherperformers. That's my girl!

The big night arrives and in a flurry of hurried activity, we deliver ourgirls backstage complete with special hair do's and a full coat ofstage war paint and we take our seats in the auditorium.

The place darkens, the curtain rises and the show begins with theperformances of some of the advanced students. They beam withpride showing off the stuff they had worked so hard on all year long.Two of Sara's dances were slated and as always, she didn't miss astep.

Then, to the "ahhhh, aren't they cute"'s of the packed house, thecurtain lifts to reveal Teri's class of little tykes all in a line lookingnervously around under the bright lights. At one end of the line wasTeri, with her bulky cast in plain view and her hands tucked in thewhite muff in the starting position for "the Muff Dance."

The moment arrived and music started. Teri didn't. She just stoodthere, still as a statue, while her friends slipped into their well-rehearsed routine.

Was she nervous? Did she forget her steps? Did her foot hurt?

Then, as if on cue, she gracefully took her left hand out of the muffand raised it to her face, inserted her index finger into her nostriland with the precision of a Texas oil driller, began a full-scaleexploration of the orifice that seemingly wouldn't conclude until shehit paydirt! That's my girl!

Needless to say, the place erupted into hysterical laughter thatoverrode the loud music. I began to slither down in my seat tryingnot to be among the majority who were splitting a gut at thespectacle and add to the embarrassment that Teri must have beenbeginning to feel.

Suddenly, as if it finally registered that the non-relenting roar oflaughter was directed at her, she ran off the stage. I was alreadyhustling out of the theatre to the backstage area in anticipation ofhaving to do some creative parenting and intense consolation.

With a lot of tear drying and a little coaxing I managed to convincemy little dancer to "get on with the show", where she performed therest of her numbers, without using her fingers.

The next year, she played tee ball.

© Rick Beneteau

Rick is co-creator of the breakthrough Make Every Day A GreatDay Program. Read the powerful, life-changing testimonialsand discover how this revolutionary product can dramaticallychange Your Life too!:http://www.MakeEveryDayAGreatDay.com/yes