I got to pick up my daughter from her dance class today. The car broke down a few days ago and was in the shop. Something with the fuel pump or something like that. I understand nothing when it comes to cars. Anyways, the mechanic at the shop said it will take 3 weeks or so for the replacement part to arrive. Hopefully, the cost will stay within our budget. With my failing law office and my wifeʼs teaching job, our income can barely scratch the surface of our expenses at the end of each month.
I took a bus to her dance lesson from work and my wife would later come to pick us up with our second car. Maybe if my wife is in a good mood weʼll stop at McDonaldʼs for dinner on the drive home to treat our little princess. “Why do you let her eat that shit food?” My wife always asks, and she is right it would be healthier to eat almost anywhere else, but my princess loves those stupid dolls you get with every Happy Meal. Her room is filled with them, and she always nudges us to eat there until she has the full collection. But those stupid dolls change every couple of months and she starts collecting a new set. A never-ending cycle of Happy Meals. Now it is dolls from some stupid TV show my princess likes on the Disney channel. I am not very supportive of junk food habits, but I could never say no, and disappoint our little princess.
Taking bus 986 from the station across my small and unsuccessful law firm, it takes me 30 minutes to reach the elementary school where my princess goes and where her classes are held. Inside the rundown gym of the school, the lesson is already over and most kids are packing their things, looking around for their parents. My princess was at the far corner of the small gym, unaware of my presence. I sat down on one of the benches and watched my princess dance with her friends. They are laughing and doing clumsy pirouettes with each other. After several minutes my princess noticed I was sitting on the benches and with a smile on her face gave me a wave. “Hey, Princess! Continue playing with your friends. Mommy will be over with the car soon” I say as she goes back to her friends and they continue to dance.
She loves to dance. My princess. Since kindergarten, she started moving whenever there was music playing. My wife and I, were proud and happy of our tiny dancer. We encouraged her to keep going. And eventually, my wife decided to strengthen her talent and send her to dance lessons. She was in heaven, my princess.
But since then, she somehow dances less. We drive her there three times a week and every time on our way there she is full of energy and excitement, but when she comes home she is tired and her mind is elsewhere.
She is a good dancer. Her teacher says so. Even I, with no knowledge of dance, can see that much. She is graceful and very accurate, her movements calculated and sharp, her eyes concentrated.
“If she takes her talent seriously she could become a famous dancer worldwide!” The teacher told once to my wife.
Since then my wife has been pushing my princess to the limit.
In the middle of an out-of-control turn, my wife enters the gym. "Hold your stomach you have no stability!" She yells at my princess. The girls seemed as if they had come out of the spell and looked at us with wide eyes. Her friends bolted back to their parents and she was standing alone, still with a little confused look on her face. My wife advances to her "Don't stop now show us what you learned! we never see you dancing”. "Yes Mom" she answers weakly. My princess shows my wife the move she learned today. A kind of jump-and-spin move. She performs the move over and over.
“No slacking, take this seriously! God gave you a talent and you can't deny him what was given to you!” my wife tells my princess as she stops her dance
My princess takes a deep breath and takes another go at her spin, falling down on the floor. She gives me a look of despair, the spark in her eyes gone. As if the life within her has vanished like a flame of a candle extinguished in the wind, extinguished forever. My princess has finally realised the hardship of adulthood. A hardship I wanted to protect her from, a hardship I never wanted her to know.