I was a backstage volunteer for the next rehearsal. There were two groups in our dressing room- the daisies and the violets. I wasn’t sure what to do so I was relieved when the mom in charge of the violets walked up to me. I was hoping she’d share some wisdom but instead, she said, “Have you ever done this before? I have no idea what to do.” It was a classic case of the blind leading the blind. 


I was in charge of nine 3 to 5-year-olds who I had never met. They all had identical leotards, tutus, skirts, ballet slippers, tap shoes and necklaces. That’s a total of 72 items to keep organized and less than a quarter of the items had the dancers’ name written inside. Their moms went out to watch the performance having done only the most minimal of organizing. There were rouge ballet slippers and skirts scattered around our half of the room. I went straight into teacher mode and made everyone sit down in an assigned seat while I organized their things. They were very sweet but they were overexcited and in a crowded room with little entertainment so it was chaos for the first 20 minutes. Lilah, Emma and Lillian looked identical so I had to keep asking their names. I might bring name tags for next week. Nala purposely stepped on all the coloring books as her friends were using them. Emma repeatedly tackled Nala to the ground. Mica was very offended every time someone so much as brushed her with their tutu. “She keeps falling on me and TOUCHING ME! Tell her to stop looking at meeee!” London kept taking off her leotard because the sequins were making her itchy. We played Simon Says with Mica in the back loudly commenting on what everyone did wrong. I told them the longest version of Jack and the Beanstalk ever recounted in the history of storytelling. Seven of them paid attention and sat quietly for the whole thing. We practiced spelling their names. We talked about giant chickens. By the end of the rehearsal, they were all more or less under control in the dressing room. Someone went by and thought our room was empty because they were all so quiet. I won’t lie. I was proud of myself for whipping them into shape   transforming us into the most organized group. I hope they keep it up for the real recital on Saturday,


As these things tend to go, pride in one area makes things go south in another. They squawked like a flock of geese while they were waiting on stage. I could not keep them quiet. No matter how many times I said they needed to whisper, someone was always talking and it was usually Emma. “Are they (the older dancers) real princesses? Is this when we get popcorn? Are the strings (tassles) on their costumes covering their butts? Is this real life? Is this a dream? Where is my mom sitting? When can I dance? My mom said this is a dream. Is it real life or a dream? Do you want to hold this fingernail I found for you on the floor? Did you bring a snack? Do we dance after them? What’s my dance again? What am I supposed to do? Can you tell me? Can you kill that bug?” The older dancers backstage kept giving me looks that said to make them be quiet. I was doing my best! I can’t help it if they get distracted by the curtains and want to pull them down.


Three hours later, all that was left in the dressing room was a pile of hangers and one lonely tap shoe without a name. I would have tracked down the owner but I barely had a voice after all that corralling. And besides, I’m only a volunteer. I don’t get paid enough to chase people down in the parking lot in this much humidity.