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The other night as we were watching daughters performance there came a voice soloist wearing a skintight black dress, low cut and short. She looked very grown up. But very uncomfortable. We found out later she was only 13.
This poor child spent her entire performance tugging at her dress, which was obviously way too much for her. Three times she flubbed her lyrics. Once she had to ask the pianist to start over. Every single time it happened she had her hands on her dress trying to pull it up around her breasts or down around her legs.
I remember the feeling of wanting to look sexy and of not knowing how to dress. Of being 13. Of winding up feeling bound or exposed or both. Of trying so hard to look good that I sometimes lost the heart of what I was there to do in the first place.
Daughter witnessed the whole thing. Afterwards she came up to me and said, Mom, she should not have worn that. It really messed up her singing.
Sigh.
Remember this honey." I said. "Remember this.
I cannot tell you how incredibly grateful I am for this moment, however sad for the performer. This reality of not abandoning ones inner life for the outer, in the life of a preteen girl and her mom, amidst the pressures of growing up female.
I bet she will remember it. daughter said, wide-eyed and serious. She really messed up.
I bet she will honey. I hope she has learned something.
Me too. Says daughter. Maybe she should think about how she is going to feel in that dress next time.
I smile at her and she hugs me, looking a little scared. I think thats about right daughter. I say.
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