new favorite student

Yesterday the summer school karate program started. It was a slow couple of classes as we helped the masses understand school protocol (when to salute, where to leave shoes, etc.) and the basics (a block, when to say "yes, sir"). The focus was "focus"--teaching kids to pay attention to one thing at a time, breaking down the concept to "eyes, mind, body" and then applying the concept by blocking strikes. Pretty easy stuff.

At the end of class Mr. O explained "Might for right," the martial arts promise that everyone says at the end of class. "If you use kicking and punching at school, what does that make you?" he asked the students.

"Mean."

"A bully."

And then this little peanut of a 4-year-girl raised her hand and announced, "I turn into a dragon."

Yep, that's right. She doesn't turn into a bully when she's mean. She turns into a dragon.

I totally dig this kid.

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dreamgirl

Kathy over at Four Dog Day wrote this post which got me thinking about girlhood-dreams. I fervently wished I could grow up to become a back up singer in a girl group--like the Supremes or the Chiffons. I imagined how glamourous I'd be with bouffant hair and wearing color-coordinated matching satin dresses. (Nevermind that I was born in the 70's and my sense of fashion was a decade out of style.) In my dreams I was never the lead singer, but rather belting out that "ooooh-ooooh baby" harmony from my spot behind her. I knew I couldn't handle the pressure of being the lead singer, but back up? That I could do with grace and style.


We'd tour the United States, singing to packed concert halls. My girl bandmates and I would be best friends, closer than sisters, sharing make up and hairbrushes while we got ready in backstage dressing rooms together. I pretended this life while wearing an old bridesmaid dress and playing songs like "Keep Me Hanging On" over and over on our Mickey Mouse record player while singing all the different vocal parts. I'd stand on the wooden toybox to get the full effect of having to balance on a high stage behind my microphone and work on choreography.

I imagined signing my name in curly letters across our group's album covers. I'd tell the girls standing in line to meet me at record stores, "Follow your dreams! Keep trying your hardest!" I'd even co-write an occasional hit song, like "Moonlight Beach Walks and Afternoon Motorcycle Rides." (Grease and Gidget influenced my perception of cool romance.)


What happens to a dream deferred by a distinct lack of talent and timing that's 20 years late? My girl-dream begat a woman driving a tan Momvan singing along at the top of her lungs to the Glee! soundtrack. She wears a t-shirt and jeans, looking as glamourous as a toilet bowl brush, and her only audience is a 5 year old riding along in the back seat clutching at his ears begging her to "Turn it off!" (In the girl-dream, there were only lovers, no husbands, no children, and we rode around in a turquoise blue convertable.)

Spill it, reader. What was your girl-dream? All comments qualify you to win Saucy's Grand Gesture necklace and bonus ipod earrings!

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