Six years old. End-of-summer camp show. I am wearing a pretty dress and ready to perform with my partner and camp mates, the routines we’d practiced. First, we dance as a group. Then, we find our partners and perform the second and final dance. I spot my partner and make my way toward him. But before I can reach him, another six year-old in a pretty dress swoops in and grabs his arms, ready to dance. I spin around, frantically looking for a replacement, but all the pairs are formed.
As the song begins to play, the couples move with each other. And there I am, abandoned in the middle of the stage. Holding one hand inside the other and rocking from foot to foot, wanting desperately for the song to be over. Watching the faces of all the adults who find so much humor in what is the most embarrassing moment of my life.
Little did I know, it would be the first of many. And the least of them all.