Once upon a time, there was a tom-boyish girl who had a secret that could disrupt the entire fragile social life of the four year old girl. If anyone found out about her burning desire, her muddy pants, dare-devilish acts, and rock throwing image would simply melt away. She couldn’t risk having the other kids know and forever staining her as the: “Barbie Girl”. No, she couldn’t have that at all; she had worked too hard to be the first girl picked for the kickball teams in gym class. She would try to forget about her heart’s desire, but it would haunt her when she closed her eyes at night. Finally, her secret drove her to insanity and her mom signed her up for the first ballet class.
The day came when she was expected to wear a ridiculous, but flattering outfit, which made her feel stupid and amazing. She awkwardly stepped into dance studio filled with girls that were chattering about their leotards and skirts. She stood in the corner and avoided eye contact with anyone, until a woman with kind eyes and a soothing voice invited her into a small room in the back of the studio. The room had beaten wooden floor, a mirror that reached from one end of the room to the next, and bars that were screwed to the teal wall. She slipped in and tried to blend into the background of all the many girls chattering on and on. Suddenly, all the girls stopped as the teacher walked into the room; she had long brown hair that shined in the light, she had brown eyes that just screamed friendly, and her voice was so comforting.
She began role call and asked each girl their age. Finally, the teacher got to her, “Olivia Edmundson, how old are you?” I replied in a shaky voice, “uh, four Mrs. Jamie”. All the girls gasped and turned their wide and curious eyes in my direction and I could feel my face get bright red. “Mrs. Jamie, she’s only four! This is a 6-7 year old class only! Make her take another class! She won’t be able to do anything, she won’t learn anything!” exclaimed one of the girls in the crowd. The girl had crimson hair that added to her frustration and anger. (You may think it’s not that scary, but it was!) I could feel tears on the rim of my eyelid and I felt like just running and forgetting this nonsense. Luckily, Mrs. Jamie was to my rescue and told the girl to leave for the day.
We began the class with bar exercises that were difficult for my four year old brain to comprehend, but I survived. Everything we did was a learning experience and was complicated, but I was determined to show that girl with crimson hair that I could learn something! I struggled with each routine and exercise we did that day, but I refused to give up. The class ended and my little Asian legs were like Italian spaghetti, I was exhausted.
My second class came around and I was more than ready for whatever the girl with the crimson hair was going to throw at me. The girl walked in and she walked right up to me. She towered over me and I was terrified! She looked at me and said, “I’m sorry.” She walked away and the class began like the first class.
Asian on a Pogo Stick
P.S. By the end of the year, the girl with the crimson hair and I began closer than a bald man and his hair re-growing gel. Since that moment, we did every class we could together.
“What is this?” (Me)
“It’s a leotard, sweetie.” (Sales lady)
“My mom says not to call anyone retarded.” (Me)
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