#jazz class

Three of us picked cry me a river.

Two of us picked summertime.

(The other picked willow weep for me (which id never heard before and l o v e d))

When I was in elementary school I was part of a jazz dance class. I actually really enjoyed myself - it even made the “mean girls” of my school stop making fun of me because I was also in the dance class.

I’m not sure what made me think of it all of a sudden. But it is one of the most vivid memories I have when I think of moments that influence my understanding of gender. 

We did a Wizard of Oz dance. Everyone got to be a cute version of the famous crew. Skirted scarecrows, Dorothy dressed down to ruby red tap shoes, cute lions in full-body dance costumes (also with a skirt) with face paint. Then there was the role that the dance teacher assigned to me and refused to let me alter the costume - The Tin Man. 

It was a stiff, itchy, sequined long-sleeve and pants combo outfit. It was shiny as all hell and came with a fake spout hat that had to be pinned to my head. I hated it. 

Don’t get me wrong - it was sparkly, flashy and if I nailed every step I would’ve stole the show. But I was the only “non-girly” version of a character onstage. No matter how gently or kindly I asked (granted I was maybe 9 years old) the teacher always said ‘no’. 

I had been made fun of for having a sort of “bowl” cut, not being into any of the “girly” shows at the time, and for being better friends with boys than the girls in my class. At least the boys didn’t force me to pick someone to have a crush on or talk badly behind each other’s backs. The girls in my class from kindergarten to late in elementary school would make fun of me for not being feminine - I just saw this as another opportunity for them to refer to me as a boy. 

I refused to dance - and I didn’t. My mom wasn’t going to make me and it saved my parents an afternoon. It was a small victory and didn’t bother anyone in the class that I missed. But to me it was the world. I didn’t have to be portrayed as a boy when I was already trying very hard to be accepted as the type of girl I still am to this day.

This memory still hangs on me today. I had a problem presenting myself for a long time before figuring out that I didn’t HAVE to look super feminine to be accepted.

Me: *gets into jazz class the next day*

Conductor: *starts conducting*

Me: wait... what’s treble clef again?