For One Shining Week Every Year

For One Shining Week Every Year...

Tomorrow marks the second dance recital that I will be missing in my entire life (since I began dancing at age 2). It's hard. Recital time was something special for me. It was the one time of the year when I truly felt like I fit in. Even though I didn't get all the jokes, for one shining week every year, I was on the inside. 

My painstaking attention to detail led me to be in charge of painting over 100 props every year. Yes, I said in charge. My peers came to me for assignments. It may sound petty, but I loved that for one week, the girls who had formed a big clique that I was never invited into had no choice but to let me in. 

So in a way recital week was a social thing. A chance to work within a group. A chance to hang out with the girls. A chance to attempt to solidify my place within the clique, only to watch it slip through my fingers as we all left the high school after tear down.

...But in reality, to me, it wasn't a social thing. To me, it was my week of understanding. It was my week of getting out my emotions and dealing with a years worth of problems and joys. From the moment I stepped onstage until the moment the last notes of the final song played, I had a superpower! I understood my emotions! 

I once wrote (and never sent) a letter to my dance class. Within the letter was a plea, begging my peers to accept everyone, treat everyone with respect, and work together as a team. I remember saying in the letter that we were all good dancers, but we had the potential to be great; we just had to work together instead of being a bunch of soloists onstage at the same time. 

I was just as guilty of it as everyone else. When I was onstage, it wasn't about the group; it was about me. It was about my feelings, my emotions, my freedoms, my self esteem, and feeling like I was flying. Sure, I cared about the group, but looking back at dance videos, it's clear that that I was in my own world. I always knew that I was, I just never knew it was so noticeable. 

Now, I certainly don't want to make it sound like I didn't have any friends at dance. I did have friends... but I always felt like my mother was more popular than I was. The girls only hung out with me when my mom was around. Most of them only talked to me when my mom pushed me over to wherever they were huddled together. I had a few good friends at dance over my 20 years and consider myself lucky to have had each one. Unfortunately, mob mentality rules and many times, I lost those friends to the larger clique. A few of the girls never succumbed to the clique and I am eternally grateful for those girls. Even if they are not my lifelong friends, I know that they will not be corrupted by the discriminatory clique either.

As with my daily life, those I did become friendly with through the studio were mostly older or younger than me. The man who built our props was one of my heroes. I loved him with all my heart and saw him as often as I could, right up until the end. My dance teacher's daughter, a girl with a heart of gold, became like my little sister. I never saw her as the girl with Downs Syndrome; I saw her as a loving and happy girl who also happened to have Downs. To this day, she's my girl and I'm so proud of everything she does. A few years ago, I met a young girl with the same stomach ailments as I have. I had never seen someone so young going through it and I was immediately drawn to her. My mom sends updates and pictures so I can keep up with everything she's doing. 

The most amazing experience I had at my dance studio in the 20 years I was there actually had NOTHING to do with me. There is a class of adults with special needs, who unfortunately do not dance in the show. I had the incredible opportunity to sit in on a few of their classes. I've never seen something so amazing. They were all so happy for one another. There was no competition, no concern over appearance or how well someone was dancing. Everyone cheered for everyone else and I never saw anyone's smile falter during the entire class. Afterwards, I said that the world could learn a thing or two from those of us with so called "special needs".