Life is One Big High School

I took my daughter to her tap and jazz dance class tonight. We have the misfortune of having this class on the same night that all of the school's competing dance lines have their rehearsals. These very talented little wind-up dolls are ill mannered, snotty little pigs. They throw their belongings about the dance studio, leave their trash on the floor, and walk around as if the world should worship them. We usually keep to ourselves and ignore them best that we can.

This week, we walked into the studio, and a table of mothers turned around to look at me. Two of them turned back, said something to the rest of the table, and then they all turned to stare at me. I simply walked past them and got my daughter ready for her class. One mother that I had a run-in with last year was looking quite amused, one was staring daggers at me, and another couldn't look me in the eye. Very strange behavior even for them.

I have to say that I have developed a thick skin over the years. I don't look like everyone else. I've become a bit hefty. I have these big prominent eyes and a big nose. I like to think of it as unconventional beauty. However, these mothers are no beauty queens themselves. I was a bit puzzled. I left the dance school to run some errands and came back 15 minutes before class was dismissed.

I was standing with two other mothers watching our girls dance. Smiling little nine-year-old girls having fun. One of the other mothers walked up to me and told me that there had been a problem during the dance class last week. (We were gone last week for my daughter's school play.) Evidently, three of the little competing dancers had been watching the girls dance through the classroom window, and one said, "Can you believe how BAD they are?" The three of them laughed and walked away. This mother had heard it and immediately walked to the office to speak to the school's owner/director about it. The director called all the competitive dancers into a classroom and gave them quite a talk about it.

Suddenly, things started to make sense to me. This other mother looks a great deal like me. About the same height. Similar hair style. I think the mothers at the table in the lobby thought that I was the one who had reported the problem. It's not hard to see why their kids turned out the way they have.

And all I have to say is that I am happy it was the other mother who overheard it. I may have had my "brain clutch" disengage, and who knows what I would've said.

I turned back and watched my daughter's class smiling and having fun. How do I prepare her for a world full of a**holes? When someone picks on her at school, I help her figure out how to handle the situation. I always tell her that the world is full of negative people, and you can't let them get to you. I have always made sure to get my daughter involved in many different activities so that she can gain confidence in herself. She can hold her ground in any situation, but I always know that she is shaking inside, unsure of herself deep down. And I hope and pray that she develops a thick skin too. If she had heard that girl's comment, she would've been devastated.

We have one more year at this dance studio after this year. My daughter wants to get her five-year pin. It has been her goal for the last three and a half years. And I'm going to make sure that she achieves that goal.

I've mentioned in this blog before that sometimes having to take the high road sucks. The only thing that is getting me through this situation at the dance studio is a wish that I have. It's a wish made by my alter-ego who I keep buried deep down inside of myself because she is a heinous bitch. And the wish is that someone somewhere will treat these ugly, selfish little brats from the dance line how they treat other people. I really wish I could be there when it happens.

Something tells me that I'm not going to get through the next year and a half without being confronted by one of the dance line lobby mothers. Maybe I should let my inner heinous bitch come out to play . . .

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." Eleanor Roosevelt