Tuesday, July 17, 2012

The Ballet Shoes


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...


an artist...


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?





2 comments:

janealfalor said...

Brothers! Why are they like that? Now that I'm grown up they're pretty good, but I remember being tortured when I was a kid. Hopefully he's nicer to you now. And I agree, write a dancer in your next novel. Might as well live through our characters :-D

Rita Monette, Writer said...

Thanks Jane. Yes, he's much nicer now and doesn't even remember the torture he put me through. ha ha.