The Ballet Shoes
When I was five, I decided I wanted some satin ballet slippers. Did I attend dance classes? No. I just wanted them. And because I was spoiled rotten, my dad bought them. And oh did I love those shoes. I ran around the house thinking I was going to be the next ballet star. I invented moves and twirls and imitated the dancers I saw on TV.
Enter my bratty brother, a year younger than me. Was he jealous of my wonderful shoes? Did he want to be a dancer too? No one will ever know, because he doesn’t to this day remember taking them. But I know! It is forever burned into my memory. I see him now—running through a damp field wearing my dancing shoes—running through the cow patties and waving at me from my spot on the front porch.
I bawled all night about my shoes. If he ever brought them back, I don’t remember. He probably threw them away for fear of being caught and punished. My dad promised me a new pair, but I never got them.
So alas, I never became a dancer. Would I have become a dancing star if I’d kept those shoes? No one will ever know.
Instead...I became a musician...
and a writer.
Maybe that was my way of making up for the lost dancing dream.
I know...I'll write a dancer into my next novel.
Do you have a lost dream? How did you deal with it?