A few days ago, I walked into my room to find my kids playing with my
laptop and Fountains of Wayne's “Radiation Vibe” playing from it.
Of course, the children were reprimanded, but that song puts me in
such a good mood that I didn't get too mad. That song reminds me of
being 16 years old. When I was 16, everything was still possible. I
was smart, hopeful, talented, and blessed with parents who were
actually considering letting me pursue a ballet career instead of
attending college.
My sixteenth year was my senior year of high school. I skipped the
eighth grade as a homeschooler so that I could attend classes at a
specialty math and science school run by our public school system in
Amarillo, the Amarillo Area Center for Advanced Learning, or AACAL. I
was still thinking I wanted to be a doctor then (cardiology,
specifically). I made choices to impress and to attempt to live up to
the potential I knew I had. I enjoyed making good grades and knew it
was reasonable to expect academic success at whatever level I decided
to reach. Ballet was my after school activity. At dance, I felt most
challenged and felt the most pleasure, but I still didn't exactly
understand how one would have a life in dance. So, I was going to be
a doctor. I was a big dork at the magnet school. I was one or two
years younger than the other kids and was the only homeschooler. I
remember being teased for wearing my dad's old letter jacket which I
thought was super cool. I was still loosing teeth (lost my last one
my junior year... not. cool.) I managed to make friends, though. I
love friendship. I have had so, so many wonderful friendships and
find them to be my greatest sources of fun and energy. My AACAL
friends were no different. We had a great time competing in medical
spelling and biomedical debate at our Health Occupation Students of
America competitions. I know, I know: dripping with cool.
Maybe it was to make up for all the extreme lameness I felt I was at
AACAL or to try to become the big city kid I knew I really was
somewhere inside, but the main things I learned at AACAL (probably an
exaggeration!) was how to look like I was actually smoking a
cigarette and how to casually drop a curse word or two. I never got
in trouble for these activities, though I was nearly caught several
times. It was easy to talk my way out being an ace student and the
goody-two-shoes homeschooler that I was. After about 6 weeks of this
silliness, though, I confessed all to my mother in a tell-all expose
of my newfound bad-assery. I swore to never do it again, and I
didn't. Though, I did drink half a wine cooler or two at some dancer
parties a couple years later... shame shame. My little rebellious
phase was great for me in one particular way: it gave me a way to
stop and decide what I really wanted. I don't think my parents were
too thrilled with AACAL in the end, so I had the option of choosing
to go hardcore for dancing rather than medicine. By that point, I
knew what I had to do if I was going to actually make good on what so
many little girls tried to claim and become a ballerina when I grew
up.
The classes and rehearsals that I wound up being committed to at the
West Texas A&M Dance Department were a lot of work, but it felt
like Heaven to me. I belonged! No one thought I was lame. In the
dance ensemble, I was 3-5 years younger than everyone, but I was
treated so sweetly, like a little pet, and with respect because I
could keep up. I loved everyone so much. I still do. We had
friendship like I have never experienced outside of dance. There's
just something so bonding about changing together, sweating together,
exhausting ourselves together and even trusting each other for our
lives. One thing that I think has attracted me to childbirth and my
current “job” as a doula is the closeness with other people. My
relationships at the Lone Star Ballet, as we were called, were great
too because there wasn't this huge element of competition that
existed in every other context I experienced. We just wanted to dance
together and get as great at it as possible. I have many wonderful,
hilarious stories to tell from my days with the Lone Star Ballet.
For a year and half, my poor, poor family had to drive me back and
forth to the university in Canyon, Texas twice a day on weekdays and
once on Saturdays and Sundays. I especially loved when my dad would
come pick me up at night. We didn't get to see each other very much
because he worked a lot, and so did I. I loved trying to convince him
to drive through a fast food place. Once, we each got about half way
through our cheeseburgers and halfway back to Amarillo before we
realized that they hadn't put any meat on them! Delicious. My poor
little sister lived much of her life in the back seat of my mom's car
waiting for me to get out of ballet.
But, then, the magical day arrived when I received my license. I
looked absolutely beautiful in my license photograph- tan, wearing a
cerulean blue scoop neck t-shirt, made-up with silver eyeliner that I
got from my grandmother's make-up stash with lipstick, gloss, and
more gloss. Even at the time I thought it was a good picture- how
lucky is that? That license was the ticket to a new chapter in life.
I kept the windows down in my red, Saturn station wagon and the radio
up. I loved music. I was very in tune with what was happening in
indie music and worked hard to learn the names of all the songs and
bands I liked. We had two absolutely fantastic college radio
stations, and I had them on at every possible second. When I did my
school work in the mornings (alone), I would keep the clock-radio
(that I still have) on my desk playing very quietly. If my mom came
into check on me, I would reach for the eraser that I had
strategically placed on the snooze button and turn it off. My goal
was to get all my favorite songs recorded on my many mix-tapes.
Each day, I would blow through my school work as quickly as I could.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah: math, history, science. I get it. Absorbed. Get
me out of here.” It wasn't that I didn't like academics. I wanted
to be smart and well-read, but I loved being with people and working
on dancing so very much. I was red-blooded and alive in the studio.
Around 11:40, it was finally time to get in my car and leave. That 20
minute drive was such a happy part of my day. I felt like myself. I
wasn't a loser trying to fit in at the magnet school (even if my last
tooth had finally grown in!). I wasn't trying to impress anyone. I
was wearing lots and lots of lipstick and earrings because I loved
them. I listened to my music loud and dreamed about all the dancing
to come. Even the landscape became more and more interesting the
closer I got to Canyon.
I have changed a lot from that 16 year old self, but she is still in
here somewhere. She's the one that wants to throw parties. She's the
one who still practices double attitude turns in the living room and
checks to make sure I can still do the splits. She's the one who
still loves Fountains of Wayne and is teaching the children to ask
for Beck and Flaming Lips albums by name. She's the one who makes
sure I've got my lipstick.
