Friday, 2 November 2012
for my mum
My sisters and I danced together for ten years. With each other, and against each other. We lived and breathed it, six days a week. I wouldn't dare guess the amount of hours my mum spent working on costumes, props and other guff. How many trips she did backwards and forwards between home and dance. For many years we were all in different classes, with different class times. I can't believe she didn't throw a party when we all finally ended up in the same class. Just one drop off, one pick up. And then when I got my licence - no pick up or drop off! When Mum had to work weekends, Dad would take us away for eisteddfods. He wedged a broom handle from one side of the tarago roof, to the other. He would meticulously pack and hang all our costumes and necessities. He does everything meticulously. He couldn't see out of the rear window. He would sit in the auditorium day in, day out. He would always give constructive criticism. By then end, he was pretty good at knowing what was decent and what was rubbish, sometimes better than the judge. Some of my fondest memories of a teenage me, involved dancing. It taught me discipline and respect. It gave me confidence and friendship.
My tiny dancer has it in her blood. She's been dancing around since she could walk. She's nearing the end of her first year of dance class. I can't wait to see her on stage. It's a little early to see the discipline and respect, but I'm sure I'll see the confidence and friendship.
Thanks for letting us dance, mum. Thanks for the effort, the patience, the support, the driving. And thanks for being such a good judge, dad.