I hereby rescind my earlier statements regarding competitive dance. No longer do I find it a wonderfully empowering, high quality environment for young people, and I want the hell out. These moms are seriously insane.
Now when I say “these,” I’m not referring to the mothers of my daughter’s teammates. Honestly, most of them conduct themselves like normal people. They clap politely for other dancers, perhaps a little louder for their own kids, and recognize that the activity they have somehow found themselves hip-deep in, though expensive and drama ridden, is an opportunity for their girls to learn sportsmanship and self-confidence, and ultimately, to have fun.
No, when I say “these” I am talking about the women who are clearly living vicariously through their petite minis. And the younger the dancer, the crazier the mom. This past weekend, our studio shared a dressing room with three others, so I had front row seats to several stellar Mommy Dearest performances. One in particular had me riveted. This mom was so aggressively wiping foundation off her four-year-old that her child was moved to tears. Oblivious or simply not caring, the mom just reapplied, added more glitter to the lipstick, and ripped out the “sew-in” curls. Amzing, right? I can also confirm there were no wire hangers in that Dream Duffel! Too bad Christina darling never wanted to compete in a jazz routine!
Out in the auditorium, the atmosphere was even worse, especially during the hour-long awards ceremony. I had to leave twice because the two mothers in front were so obnoxious, you’d have thought their daughters had won Olympic Gold, instead of participatory medals. Participatory!
And that’s another thing, I’ve now been to three dance competitions, and all three had different award levels. First Place, Ultimate Elite, Platinum . . . What the hoo-ha? Why isn’t this standardized? Not that it really matters. From what I saw, technique wasn’t near as important as showmanship, and the more skin a toddler revealed the better. A three-year-old took home a judge’s award after gyrating on stage in a bikini-turned-monkey costume. Sure it was cute, but at the same time, pre-school stripper acts probably shouldn’t be spotlighted!
Maybe I’m too old to tolerate the shenanigans, or maybe it was just this particular event, but whatever the reason, dance competitions have become my headache-inducing nemeses. And as much as I’ve complained about spending hours on a frozen soccer field or in a humid natatorium, I would gladly take those over the dance scene. If only my daughter didn’t love it so much. The silver lining (or diamond or bronze, depending) is that I’m sure to have plenty of solid crazy-mom for months to come! Peace out.