Ballerina Dad

     How tough could it be?  Months of ballet and tap practice led up to her first performance.  The note sent home read, “Be at rehearsal on time and be prepared to listen to some important information at the start.”  Great.  I’ll drop off my six-year-old daughter, get the low down for the next day’s performance, grab some coffee, run some errands and pick her up at the end.
     Now understand, this was my first rodeo.  I’m embarrassed to admit I totally underestimated the culture of stage performance.  My prior experience involved transportation and writing checks.  I knew it involved discipline, but I was woefully unprepared when greeted with the harsh reality that an extra special brand of discipline was saved for the parents.
     I have been scarred by buns.  I honestly don’t know how I can order a burger or barbecue sandwich moving forward.  A pony tail appeared to be good enough for the first few months of ballet and tap practice, but as we got closer to the performance I was informed only a bun would do for my daughter’s hair.  There can’t be many things in this world more excruciating than trying to put my daughter’s hair in a bun.  This should be a carnival game.  No one would win the stuffed animals.  My daughter’s hair is not quite long enough to make it easier.  I didn’t find out about bun holders for weeks.  We kept passing the task off to the next person who thought he or she could do it.  This was much like trying to pull Excalibur from the stone.  After many people made numerous attempts we ended up with something resembling a bun.  This included a bun holder, 20 or so bobby pins, a hair net and hair spray.  Her arms and legs may have been able to move during dance practice, but that head wasn’t going anywhere.
     We're now at rehearsal.  No problem with traffic, we found the auditorium and the hair is in a bun.  Let me get this information and away we go.  Or so I thought.
     This was an episode of the Twilight Zone.  We were now in boot camp.  Rows of parents (almost all Mothers with experience at this) sat facing the stage where the dance director had placed a lone chair.  It was from this vantage point where she would unleash her commands.

     “I don’t do recitals.”  I will hear that in my sleep.  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she bellowed, “but the only person I want to please with this show is me.”  I took that as, if she’s pleased we’d all be pleased, but I’m not quite sure.  “If your child’s hair or dress is sloppy, they will be sloppy dancers.”  “If you, or someone you bought a ticket for, can’t sit still and stay off their cell phones for an hour and a half, I’ll give you your money back.  That happens at recitals.  I don’t do recitals.  You’re not ruining this show.”  “Lipstick will be bright red.  Eye shadow will be dark blue.  If you bring them with anything else on, they will still appear on stage with red lipstick and dark blue eye shadow.”

       I was squirming in my seat by this point.  Her expression had not changed over half an hour.  Despite being several feet away I felt I was nose to nose with a drill sergeant.  And then…the worst news, “I know it’s National Donut Day today, but I better not see a donut tomorrow (bun holders are called donuts for their shape).”  WHAT?!?!?!  “I want perfect buns, no donuts.”  Is that even possible?  I guess it is because as I scanned the rows of parents no one seemed fazed by the command that sounded an awful lot like “Now climb that mountain against enemy fire and take the top…while carrying a cannon on your back.” There was one other Dad in the auditorium, but his back was to me.  I assume he was too petrified to move.  After a few more instructions (marching orders) we were given our release.  I may have knocked a few people down trying to escape.  I’m not sure.  I had 24 hours to follow my orders and present a perfect performer for the show.  I needed to celebrate five o’clock in every time zone tonight.

     It is now the day of the show.  I think I’m prepared.  “Dad, I want a princess breakfast.”  What’s a princess breakfast?  “Bacon.”  Okay then, a princess breakfast it shall be (with chocolate chip pancakes as it turns out).  Wait, makeup!  It’s off to Walgreens.  How did I forget to get the makeup?  Red lipstick, dark blue eye shadow.  And, of course, no one is at the makeup counter.  I can’t be left alone to figure this out.  So many reds, so many blues.  Fortunately a nice woman took pity on me and walked me through it.  I think we’re good.  Until…I arrive back home and find my wife screaming, “I’ve tried and tried and I can’t put her hair in a bun without a bun holder! Take her to her grandmother and see what she can do.”  The six-year-old is suddenly the voice of calm.  And she has to perform in front of strangers in a couple of hours.
     Even her grandmother gasped when I delivered the crushing news.  “And you can’t use a bun holder.”  Now we’re also fighting the clock.  A brave attempt by her grandmother may have done the trick. That and 30 or so bobby pins.  Not to mention my daughter was under strict orders not to move her head on the way back home.
     She would be arriving an hour and a half before the curtain went up so we were told to bring snacks.  As you might imagine, those snacks came with restrictions.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to come up with snack ideas that don’t involve the color orange or chocolate crumbs?  Very.  After debating this for several minutes, I arrived at turkey slices, a cheese stick and applesauce.
     Hair? Check.  Makeup? Check.  Costume. Check?  Flowers? Check.  Fragile state of mind? Check.  My wife had taken the performer ahead of time with the snacks and a book to pass the time before the show started.  Hahahahaha!  I take you back to “first rodeo.”  As my son and I race to the auditorium I get a text, “Thank goodness for veteran dance Moms who know to bring blankets and toys.”  We are clearly fish out of water here.

     Somehow my kids came across Dance Moms on Lifetime a few weeks ago.  My son would have some idea of what to expect as I informed him (okay, threatened him) how he would behave over the next two and a half hours.  “No phone, no talking, really…no breathing.  Just sit still.  You don’t know what this woman is capable of.  I’ve lived it.”
     Little did I know that our daughter’s tap dance routine was toward the end of the two-hour show.  Not that we would’ve left early, but a bump up in the order could’ve cut my tension in half knowing I had survived.  A few times during the show other people would stand up or try to quietly check their phones.  I wanted to whisper to them, “You’re going to get us all killed.”
     As I nervously waited for her routine I found myself enjoying, appreciating and respecting what I was seeing on stage.  The commitment, the time and the work put in by these kids showed in the precision of their flawless performances.  They were making moves any athlete would be jealous of and doing it exactly on point.  I realized dance doesn’t cut corners.  There are no short cuts to a perfect performance.  And all of a sudden, my drill sergeant’s commands made sense.  With all of the time and effort these dancers put in for this one show, the least we could do is discipline ourselves for two hours and not disrupt things because we’re used to moving at warp speed through our daily lives.

     Finally it was our daughter’s turn.  And speaking of turns, my stomach had been doing plenty of them.  But she was terrific. The bun stayed in place.  The red and blue makeup stood out under the bright lights.  And she danced beautifully.  This was no big deal to her.  Outside the stage door we presented her with flowers.  She beamed as everyone took photos with the dancing star.  I asked her if she had fun. “Yes.”  Do you want to continue with ballet and tap? “No, I don’t think so.  I think I want to try gymnastics now.”  Okay, but just one question.  Does that require a bun?