I’m considered a bad mom by people on a fairly regular basis. And it’s because of those people that I know I’m doing a good job.
This past weekend my kids had a dance convention. The main focus of conventions is the classes. Dancers spend 3-4 hours at a time going through various dance styles with teachers from all over. It’s a great experience to learn something so quickly with people you aren’t used to. You’re surrounded by countless others just hoping to be noticed for a scholarship to next year’s convention. During the convention, there is a competition. Both my children danced solos and duos in the competition. For months leading up to the convention I said the same thing to my son, “I hope you lose.” Did your jaw just drop like most people’s? Let me explain. In the world of dance, girls are everywhere and boys are scarce. You might find some in hip hop, but for jazz, tap, contemporary, and ballet, the numbers drop further and further. So what does that mean in my house? He thinks he’s hot stuff. Caleb entered a dance class. He was moved to the center of the performance because it looked better, and, according to the teacher, he worked there perfectly. (Head getting bigger.) The next year he was moved up to a higher level ballet class mid-year. The teacher wanted him for a special ballet program in the Lowcountry. (Head getting bigger.) Thankfully, Covid shut that down. I saw open auditions for a ballet and we let him audition hoping that he would get knocked down a peg next to the more experienced ballarinos. Nope. Front and center. But at least he saw a young boy just one year older that was way beyond his level. That stuck a bit. It just didn’t matter. My son has entered a world where people are happy he walks in because of his gender. He doesn’t have to be the best. He just has to be willing to learn and grow. Sigh. So convention comes and he does his solo routine. He did not do well. It sucked. I was somewhat upset for him. But still, I was happy. I knew he did not do the work that he needed to do in order to score well. It took this competition to show him what I had been telling him. We walked away discussing it. He wasn’t happy. The rest of the weekend he would say, “I need to work harder” and “I need to step up my game.” Yes! Yes! Yes! He finally failed. He bombed. He blew it. He knew it. And his response is exactly what I have wanted from him. Rise from the ashes. Will he win at the next competition? Nope. But all we hope for is improvement. Can he dust himself off and do better than the last time? Will he toughen up? I think he will. I think he saw it’s a new game. There are no more comparisons. It’s all him. On his shoulders. People have thought me nuts for wishing him to lose, but now that he has experienced that yucky feeling low scoring, he is more motivated to work. Sometimes you have to want them to fail. I’d rather my kids fail before ten and learn to work, than to fail at twenty-five and not know what to do. You may not agree with my parenting style, but I’d say it’s working.
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May 2023
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