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Have you ever felt like an outsider?

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Seventh Grade Dance

By C.S. Scotkin

To be female, 12 years old and five foot nine is one of God’s better practical Jokes. It was the night of the seventh grade dance. All the girls I wanted to be were going. You know, those girls, five feet two, cute and bouncy. Who had cool Moms who let them wear lipstick, and…nylons… Pleated skirts with heather sweaters and charm bracelets and circle pins. Hair that pouffed and flipped up at the ends. They never had to wear corduroy jumpers, ankle socks and tie shoes; they were never made conspicuous by their lack of jewelry, lipstick, and nylons. But I did have my Sunday Mary-Jane’s.

Dad was working second shift at the mill then, Mom wouldn’t leave her waitress job till 6, she promised to take me to the dance if I went to Grandma’s to get ready. Dad dropped me off and Grandma and I talked while we had supper. I went upstairs to change. I hated that blue paisley jumper and the ruffled front white blouse. My hair was straighter than string but at least I had been liberated from braids. I promised that when I arrived at the school I would go to the girl’s lav; these hated white socks would come off!

I sighed and went down for the final Grandmother inspection, looking and feeling like a four year old in front of a carnival fun house mirror. She looked me over and told me to stand up straight, sweetie. She looked at my feet. I burst into tears. Without saying a word she left the room and returned a few minutes later…with a garter belt and real silk stockings, not nylon, pre-war silk. I received a crash course on how to wear a garter belt and how to put on silk stockings. The Mary-Jane’s had improved considerably. My mother had a fit and her mother told her she thought I was old enough. Not even my Mom would cross my Grandmother.

The dance was a horror. It soon became clear that no boy there was going to ask me to dance. I was at least 4 inches taller than any of them, and the cutie pies seemed to be afraid of catching my height; they avoided me as well. I wished it were ten p.m. and my Mom would pick me up. While I was drinking fruit punch I noticed the Boys and Girls Basketball Coach walking over to me. I liked Mr. A., Mr. A. liked kids…he had a few of his own and his wife was funny and smart. She taught music. He walked over and asked if he could dance with me. I was too much in shock to say no. He danced as badly as I, but he wanted me to try out for the Junior High Girls Basketball team. That could and would never happen, I had to take care of my sisters while my parents worked.

It was still a stellar, magical evening…silk stockings, a dance with a teacher, and the knowledge that a five foot nine, 12 year old girl might have some value.

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  1. This is an excellent piece. It is more than a description of an evening that started out badly and ended happily. It is a short story, well-written with no errors.

    As to Mr. A., I am sure he did something for you in those few minutes that lasted a lifetime. He showed you that you were a valuable human being. And he did it through action, not lecturing as many teachers do.

    I hope you will continue to write such stories in the future.


  2. This was special, and I should know, I was the boy who couldn't dance, but who had the music in his head.  Couldn't get it from the head to the feet, so decided to get it in his fingers and started playing the music for others to dance to.  It made me feel I could dance as well as anyone, but I still danced like a one-legged duck.

  3. i like it. i dont really like stories about girls who feel sorry for themselves, though. it gets kind of old

  4. Great piece of writing.  I like it - and I don't usually answer the questions where someone asks us to read something they've written.  You took us back to those awful junior high dances, where we dreaded the thought and the embarrassment that no one would ask us to dance, and probably even more dreaded the thought that someone might.  Top marks for this one.  Well done.

  5. This IS a wonderful little story.

    When I was 12 I was 4'11'--ALL the girls were tall--made for good slow dancin' if ya know what I mean.

    I was the kid that was too poor to afford parachute pants, but really, looking back, I'm thankful for that. If somebody would've only stopped me from break dancin' I could have survived the early 80's with just a mullet.

  6. What a great story that I can identify with on so many levels.  I too was 5'9" at twelve years old and it doesn't matter how cute or nice you are when you are considerably  taller than all boys.  I feel your pain.  I didn't have or get what the other girls got either because we were dirt poor and wore hand-me-downs from the thrift store.  Anyhow, you are a great story teller and I enjoyed this immensely.

  7. yeah.

    woww. sounds like a good story :)

  8. Wow! Just... wow! I really liked that. It portrayed someone who felt out of place and ignored very, very well.

    Quite realistic too. I want to keep reading!

  9. Loved it, saw it, felt it!  My heart quaked as Mr. A approached!  As the young girl so ignored, but also as a retired teacher who knows how one act of kindness can make something "stellar."  Way to go, tall one, and way to go Mr. A!!!

    Thanks for sharing this, ma

  10. This is a wonderful story, and you did an excellent job writing it. I've written a few, but I don't think I have your skills.

    I think all of us can relate in some way to the story, the awkwardness of height (don't hate me, I'm one of the 5'2" bubblers, though I wasn't allowed to wear makeup til I was 17), the not being able to participate in activities because of family obligations, not having money and fancy things,etc...

    I think Middle School (Junior High) has to be awkward for all kids. It's when we all go through the transformation from child to teen, you know?

    Excellent story. Thanks for sharing, and for your inspiration!

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