The Dirt Field

The other night at a dinner party, my mother and I were discussing events from my childhood. Back in those days, when I was young and easily manipulated, my mom would convince me to try all sorts of things that she thought would be fun. I auditioned for plays and shows, performed in every talent show I could, and wore clashing neon colors with alarming regularity.

Something in our conversation reminded me of the time she had me audition to be a dancer in the International Children’s Festival at Wolf Trap, and I decided to ask her about it. My recollection of the experience was that I was the youngest person at the audition, and that everyone around me was able to learn the steps so quickly, while I was bouncing around jerkily three steps behind the other dancers. I remember it as being a very painful experience, and apparently that was not far from the truth. As my mother explained sympathetically, “I give you a lot of credit! You were so undertalented.”