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What We Leave Behind
By Stephanie Kemp
What We Leave Behind
By Stephanie Kemp
I should have listened. She was very clear:
"I don’t need a packed lunch.”
But I knew that she did. She was going to be there from 10am to 9pm!
6 hours of dancing
2 hours of set up and tech
3 hours of backstage waiting
Her final show at the dance company that:
Launched her.
Taught her to be strong(er).
Got her through a pandemic.
Showed her how many ways there are to grow up to be a badass woman.
Made her realize and appreciate the miracle that is her body.
It was her choice to be done. She has been very clear that she is ready to move on.
There were drips of sadness about the leaving but they didn’t compare to the tidal waves and excitement about what might come next.
Well, you can’t be part of a dance company and not have some drama, thought the mom who thought she knew (knows?) everything.
The lunch was so overstuffed that it didn’t even fit in the brown bag.
Undeterred, I used a take out bag from our favorite dumpling restaurant. This would be better anyway as it was bright red with bolts of lightning black. She would be able to find it in the chaos of the day. She would be starving and so grateful that I made her bring it. She would also be slightly disappointed with its contents (fusilli with butter and parm in a new thermos, a pack of teriyaki seaweed, a tangerine, a honey crisp apple and 2 seen a better day Pillsbury croissants trying to trick her into compliance with an abnormal amount of Nutella smeared on both).
"Mom. Please. I don’t need that. We will get food."
But how? When? What if you don’t or can’t? What if you can but there is some tiny dancer in there who doesn’t have anything to eat and their parents aren’t coming or who forgot their money or who gets low blood sugar? This is for anyone who needs it!
Our stand off is starting to attract veryveryvery unwanted attention. The only thing stronger than her want for me to leave is my want for her to take the fucking lunch backstage.
My daughter is 14.
A ferociously independent and largely awesome 14.
No one will win.
I joke that she could live alone in a foreign country with no knowledge of the language or the culture and be fine. I am often not actually joking, but always wondering if I truly believe this.
I think I do. So why am I forcing the lunch on her?
Because she is leaving.
Because she has grown into a person that is ready to do so much in this world.
Because I have a hole in my heart.
Because I want her to be safe and fed.
Because she doesn’t need me to do this for her which makes me need to do it more.
Because I am trying not to cry.
My friend, the OG badass founder of this badass dance company is holding the door for my daughter to go in and is witnessing the showdown. She says, “Ooh. Can I take it in? I’ll need it!” She is sincere.* And if anyone won’t have (or take) the time to eat today it will be this friend. (She is also ferocious and a tenacious mama bear who would never let a kid - hers or anyone else’s - be hungry backstage or anywhere else.)
My daughter and I, both relieved and feeling vaguely victorious, say goodbye as she disappears into the blue lights of a pre-show tech rehearsal.
Everything is about to happen.
And while I am pretty sure that my daughter won’t be eating a single thing from the bold bag that I needed to be sure she could see from anywhere, I am beyond sure that she will be fed.
This is what this community and these people have done for her for the last 6 years.
So when I see my daughter after her amazing show with these amazing (now they are) women and (some are still) children, I realize that the only thing that will be left behind today is that packed lunch.
I am wildly proud and totally crying.
As she holds her flowers and hugs her friends, I see things flicker across her face that show complete self ownership, in all of its exciting, terrifying, heartbreaking glory.
She is not done.
And as she gathers her things so that we can take her to get pizza against her will (she will go next door and grab a donut), I wish I had used her old thermos, because part of me knew I would never see this one again.
*My OG friend will be surprised by the contents of this adolescent survival kit. She is accustomed to the homemade banana bread and/or sea salt chocolate chip cookies I made during the earlier years of child growing, when things were certain to be eaten, I was certain that I could always make everything ok, and my daughter was just beginning to learn how to dance.
"I don’t need a packed lunch.”
But I knew that she did. She was going to be there from 10am to 9pm!
6 hours of dancing
2 hours of set up and tech
3 hours of backstage waiting
Her final show at the dance company that:
Launched her.
Taught her to be strong(er).
Got her through a pandemic.
Showed her how many ways there are to grow up to be a badass woman.
Made her realize and appreciate the miracle that is her body.
It was her choice to be done. She has been very clear that she is ready to move on.
There were drips of sadness about the leaving but they didn’t compare to the tidal waves and excitement about what might come next.
Well, you can’t be part of a dance company and not have some drama, thought the mom who thought she knew (knows?) everything.
The lunch was so overstuffed that it didn’t even fit in the brown bag.
Undeterred, I used a take out bag from our favorite dumpling restaurant. This would be better anyway as it was bright red with bolts of lightning black. She would be able to find it in the chaos of the day. She would be starving and so grateful that I made her bring it. She would also be slightly disappointed with its contents (fusilli with butter and parm in a new thermos, a pack of teriyaki seaweed, a tangerine, a honey crisp apple and 2 seen a better day Pillsbury croissants trying to trick her into compliance with an abnormal amount of Nutella smeared on both).
"Mom. Please. I don’t need that. We will get food."
But how? When? What if you don’t or can’t? What if you can but there is some tiny dancer in there who doesn’t have anything to eat and their parents aren’t coming or who forgot their money or who gets low blood sugar? This is for anyone who needs it!
Our stand off is starting to attract veryveryvery unwanted attention. The only thing stronger than her want for me to leave is my want for her to take the fucking lunch backstage.
My daughter is 14.
A ferociously independent and largely awesome 14.
No one will win.
I joke that she could live alone in a foreign country with no knowledge of the language or the culture and be fine. I am often not actually joking, but always wondering if I truly believe this.
I think I do. So why am I forcing the lunch on her?
Because she is leaving.
Because she has grown into a person that is ready to do so much in this world.
Because I have a hole in my heart.
Because I want her to be safe and fed.
Because she doesn’t need me to do this for her which makes me need to do it more.
Because I am trying not to cry.
My friend, the OG badass founder of this badass dance company is holding the door for my daughter to go in and is witnessing the showdown. She says, “Ooh. Can I take it in? I’ll need it!” She is sincere.* And if anyone won’t have (or take) the time to eat today it will be this friend. (She is also ferocious and a tenacious mama bear who would never let a kid - hers or anyone else’s - be hungry backstage or anywhere else.)
My daughter and I, both relieved and feeling vaguely victorious, say goodbye as she disappears into the blue lights of a pre-show tech rehearsal.
Everything is about to happen.
And while I am pretty sure that my daughter won’t be eating a single thing from the bold bag that I needed to be sure she could see from anywhere, I am beyond sure that she will be fed.
This is what this community and these people have done for her for the last 6 years.
So when I see my daughter after her amazing show with these amazing (now they are) women and (some are still) children, I realize that the only thing that will be left behind today is that packed lunch.
I am wildly proud and totally crying.
As she holds her flowers and hugs her friends, I see things flicker across her face that show complete self ownership, in all of its exciting, terrifying, heartbreaking glory.
She is not done.
And as she gathers her things so that we can take her to get pizza against her will (she will go next door and grab a donut), I wish I had used her old thermos, because part of me knew I would never see this one again.
*My OG friend will be surprised by the contents of this adolescent survival kit. She is accustomed to the homemade banana bread and/or sea salt chocolate chip cookies I made during the earlier years of child growing, when things were certain to be eaten, I was certain that I could always make everything ok, and my daughter was just beginning to learn how to dance.