Today is March 2nd.
March 2nd when I was 11?
I wonder if public schools still have dancing classes. Nervous 6th graders picking partners from either side of the school cafeteria, the room still smelling like yesterday’s salmon wiggle. Sweaty palms everywhere. This was straight ballroom dancing. Learn the cha-cha. Waltz. One Two Three. One Two Three.
We assembled every Wednesday night. I loved the dancing despite wondering who I would dance with. My crush on Richard lasted a few more years despite being fed up with him that last night of class – which I imagine was because he didn’t “notice” me. I thought it was because of how I looked (my hair! my dress! my glasses! my braces!). He was taller than I was, so that couldn’t be it. I sort of could dance. I just knew romance must be right around some nearby corner – I watched Gidget and look how much fun she had! It wasn’t until years later raising my own son that I realized how unaware (in a sweet sort of way) 12 year old boys can be. They just have their minds on other things. And asking a 12 year old girl to dance was most likely not one of those things….
It would prevent a lot of anxiety if 12 year old girls could somehow know this.