First Dance, Different Drummer word count 910
I puzzled, as boys raced from the building, making a bee line to waiting cars. I wondered, while slouching loner kids followed. I worried when chatty animated girls, totally absorbed in conversation, filtered out of the building. The first after-school dance of the year was letting out and junior high kids poured from the school looking for rides. They didn’t really look like they were coming from a dance, dressed in typical adolescent fad style: skinny jeans, baggy pants, layered snug shirts and roomy pullovers. I studied the crowd watching for my 6th grade daughter.
Earlier that morning, I mutely fussed over what my 12 year old girl would wear to her first school dance, long past were the days when I dictated her wardrobe. Dramatic and eclectic, her outfits were self composed. I indulge her creativity with trips to the local thrift shop to experiment with new looks and combinations. I took pride in her free spirit. She played with hairstyles, makeup and fancy shoes. Sometimes her results were completely over the top but I knew eventually, through trial and error, she would accomplish her own original polished look.
But as middle school approached, with peer pressure and puberty looming, I silently pondered. Would she be accepted by the other girls who took their cues from mainstream culture? My daughter, so on the edge, didn’t pay attention to fads or gimmicks. She made her own way singing and dancing on stage. She was, a nose in a book, dreamer. My concern was justified. I knew how hard the world was on dreamers. Would she be ostracized? Would she sacrifice her free spirit in order to fit in or would she come out whole? Would her self expression be tolerated or misunderstood? I wondered these things because I remembered my own adolescence.
Self consciousness and low self esteem secretly plagued my adolescence. As an oldest child who wanted to be accepted, I went the, be-good, route. I accomplished a lot, was ultra responsible and followed the rules. I did what the formative institutions in my life suggested. I took their advice and was outwardly led to form my path. It created an unreal me, a false self, that fit other people’s needs and expectations more than my own.
It wasn’t until my children were born, that I began the process of shedding that false self. I had the opportunity to forgo full time work and stay home to care for my children. Finally, I discovered freedom. I was completely in charge of my time, actions, and thoughts. There were no job evaluations, no end of the year reports, and no philosophies or rubrics to keep. Being at home, with these children, meant we could play, visit parks, hang out in libraries, tour museums, and just have fun together. I found, through this freedom, each year they grew, I grew. I became more the person I wished I could have been growing up. I thought of these things as I scanned the crowd.
As I waited for my daughter to emerge from the school building after the dance, I pictured her as she left in the morning. She wore a flowing white chiffon party dress with misty blue flowers. Her hair was neatly brushed. I wanted to say, “Honey, are you sure about this outfit? I think the other kids may be dressing down for the dance, since it immediately follows school.” But I held my tongue, listening to my intuition, and simply said “You look beautiful.” Her eyes lit up with happiness, independence, excitement, hope, and innocent expectation. She waved good bye and walked in her strappy heels, with back pack slung across her shoulders, to catch the bus. I wondered what would become of her. I fretted about that sweet innocent girl going to her first junior high dance.
I noted especially the girls as they evacuated the school. I scanned again for my daughter. And then I spotted a small white dot near the door. This wispy cloud grew larger and more defined. A girl, as if floating through the crowd, chiffon dress blowing in the breeze, headed for my car. She looked like Ginger Rogers amidst a throng of tousled adolescents. She smiled, pulling the car door open and gracefully collapsing in on the passenger side seat. “It was the best, mom” she said.
I was awestruck. My beautiful girl was back, whole and unscathed. Out tumbled detail upon detail of fun. And I realized that she, a dreamer and free spirit, was going to make it through the adolescent tunnel intact. She was rooted. She stood on a foundation of her own making. Her own real self wasn’t fragile, delicate, or hidden but was strong, flexible, and indomitable. I discovered in giving myself permission to be real, an authentic self, I had, as a result, given my children that gift as well.
After that first dance, I worried less about my daughter. The early teenage years will always present bumps and challenges but when a child has the freedom to create themselves, they also develop the skills to better adjust to life’s unexpected challenges. When a person firmly knows who they are, life’s sting isn’t as potent. I celebrate as I watch my daughter create her self. I trust her unpolished experimentation, because it is through this opportunity that she will continue to discover who she is.
