Three Months Later, Facing Another Graduation

My eldest daughter became a middle schooler this spring.
As she settles fully into middle school life, another graduation is approaching.

The recital for the modern ballet and jazz dance she has been learning for nine years is in four days.
Today is the final day of rehearsals.

“You’re just dancing through the motions, aren't you?”
“I can't see that feeling of ‘I can't dance anymore, I'm at my limit.’”
“The kind where you're out of breath and ready to collapse.”
“Please show me your desire to dance.”

The teacher, who is still active on the front lines of musical theater,
speaks to the children slowly, without raising her voice.

“You are dancing because you want to dance.”
“How do you want to dance?”
“How do you want to look beautiful?”
“Even within the set choreography, show me a dance where you shine.”
“Think once more about what it means to stand on stage.”
“You still have two days until the performance.”
“Please think about it, starting now.”

These words were directed at the younger students.
However, it felt as if they were spoken directly to me.
It struck my heart as if this were a stage and these were lines from a play.
Asking, how will you live out the stage of your own life?

My daughter and her 'graduation team' have been working hard together as a group of four classmates.
The studio is primarily for elementary students, and from middle school, they must either quit or move to a different class.
This will be the last time the four of them perform a group dance together.

There is a special atmosphere to the dance expressed by these 12-year-old girls,
something different from any other age.
I think this every year when I watch the sixth-grade performance.

The song the teacher chose for the four of them is
the same group dance they performed at their first recital as elementary students.
The longing the girls once felt for their seniors back then,
they now embody themselves as they dance.

Costumes, props, hair, and makeup.
On Sunday, I will dedicate myself entirely to supporting them.
The culmination of my daughter's six years.

I am ready to shed tears.

Thank you for reading.


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