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My Son's First Dance Class
By Deborah Boehle
Throughout the class, I watched every twitch of my son's eye and wondered if this would be the moment he burst into tears and came running out of the studio. I cringed every time I saw his mouth bend into a stiff smile. Oh, my poor son! He was trying so hard to hold it all inside, which would no doubt lead to irreparable harm.
I vowed to let him drop out of class. I wondered if they would refund my money. If they wouldn't perhaps he would be like to switch to one of the acting classes, or perhaps one of my daughters would like to take another dance class. Forget about the money, I told myself. It's not as important as Jonathan's peace of mind and sexual identity.
When my 7-year-old daughter stated the obvious -- "Jonathan's the only boy in the class" -- I immediately told her not to say anything to him about it.
"I don't think he feels very good about that, so don't say anything to him." Later, as she continued to beg for a bag of Skittles from the vending machine, my brain was invaded by a plot and I agreed to buy the Skittles if she would wait until her brother came out of class before opening them. The moment he walked out the door, I would shove the candy into his hand before he had a chance to say anything. That little bag of candy would be my peace offering and perhaps delay his tearful rampage until we were at least out of the building and in the safety of our car.
As my anxiety was beginning to peak, my 12-year-old came downstairs from her dance class and joined us. Then I saw the teacher dismissing the students. I ripped the end off the bag of the Skittles and as Jonathan came through the door, I forced a huge smile across my face and said,"Here, do you want some Skittles?" grabbing his hand and overfilling it with the candy as he said, "Sure!"
