It is not a great photo. I snapped it a few seconds too late, I see the tops of heads, red hair and blond flowing toward the lush, green grass as they bend at the waist. It’s not a great picture, but I know that they are mid-bow.
“We’re doing a show! Come watch! Are you coming? The show’s starting.”
This summer was the summer of shows. There have been music shows and dancing shows, hula hoop shows and acrobatic shows (like the one they’ve just wrapped up in the picture that involved the crocodile see saw). The dancing shows usually have costumes: the purple and teal fairy costume or the polka dot tulle dress or the shell pink ballerina skirt leotard from the dress up box. The music shows feature instruments—always a drum—and self-written songs. I’ve watched them march and arabesque, twirl and leap, inside and out, morning or night.
They announce each other—“And now the most amazing dancer ever”—in deep, dramatic stage voices, and tell each other what to do in not so quiet stage whispers, “Now you come in. Now. Dance!”
And before I’m invited to watch the show, I hear the rehearsals, which sometimes turn into squabbles as they each fight for their own vision.
I remember watching our neighbors do shows just a couple of years ago. They’d want my girls to be in the them, and sometimes my girls were up for it. Even when they were, at one or two or three didn’t take direction so well. They crawled off stage or wouldn’t say lines or wanted to play instead. Now, this summer, my girls are directing. This summer, they’re the stars.
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