It’s quiet. The stage is set. Lights of pink, blue, and green descend from overhead to illuminate the stage. Violins strum as the orchestra joins in over the sound system, in a slow sweet opening. As the music increases, thirty little ballerinas dressed in white, prance under the spotlight in sync with one another, as the audience resounds in “awe”. The performance begins, and my girl instinctively moves in graceful spins and pointed toes.
I felt them coming…the tears. I pushed them back and held them off for as long as I could, but as soon as I laid my eyes on Krysta, I waved my white flag and surrendered. I became so overwhelmed with the emotion of seeing my little girl on stage that my eyes swelled, breaking the dam as tears began to roll uncontrollably down my cheeks. Yes, we’ve done many recitals in the past, but the lump-in-the-throat and heart swelling never goes away. It’s usually around this time –the waterworks part- that I look over at Ron to see his eyes glistening as he watches his baby pirouette, but there was just a stranger sitting beside me. This was the first recital that Ron wasn’t able to attend. I was the only one that came to see her performance, but that’s all she needed. She knew daddy was thinking of her and supported her big day from thousands of miles away.
The tempo changed paced as the group of bouncing bopping girls did high kicks and pom-pom shakes across stage. This was her first year doing Pom, and while she loved doing her number on stage, she decided that Pom wasn’t her thing…she’d rather arabesque in yards to tulle instead of booty shake in sequins. Her exact words were, “ballet is prettier”.
But she did it, and she did it well. I’m so proud of her.
“To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautifully, more powerful. This is power, it is glory on earth, and it is yours for the taking.” –Agnes De Mille