Sammy has shed many a crocodile tear since I forbade her going to the Love2Dance studio for dance lessons. After the inappropriate recital which ran the gamut from little girls in tutus to little girls tarted up to teens and young adults in sado-masochistic dances, we decided we just weren’t ready for the stripper’s pole for the girl. [There’s plenty of time to learn how to work the pole and the lap. She is, after all, only 8.]
We found ourselves a wholesome little Kinderdance session as an after school program. For a bit, her best friend took the classes. Sam was friendly with the other girls in the class as well. In the end, though, it was just four little girls – third graders all – who stuck out the “semester” and put on a dance “recital” for the parents a week or so ago.
They danced to a quaint hip-hop song. (Is that an oxymoron? “Quaint” and “hip-hop”?) Sammy was easily the best, the most energetic. And she was positioned sort of apart from the other three. Imagine a Diana Ross with the Supremes. A Gladys Knight with her Pips. That was Sammy with the Three Others.
Sammy wanted to wear her Love2Dance outfit. She described it to the young woman leading the class, and she got the go-ahead to wear it. Here she is with her dance instructor after the “recital.”
Very cute, eh?
One of the mothers came up to me the next day and told me how wonderful she thought Sammy was. How energetic. How into it. Then she said, “The other girls thought her outfit was inappropriate. But I thought it was just darling.”