Today was the day I unpacked the box marked in my father's handwriting, “Betsy Childhood Treasures”. It has sat in my basement for over 30 years. I know I have looked in it once or twice, purged a few things each time I opened it, but I am always surprised to see what made the cut the last time it was reviewed.
Of course I have my prized cap gun with holster. It is still beautiful, silver-colored, tooled and has an off white plastic (ivory colored) handle. Unfortunately the red cow girl skirt with white leather fringe that came with it is long gone. I found toy bear that was wearing granny glasses and when you wound it up it looked like it was knitting. Then there was the clown chachki my mother bought for me when she was in the hospital for two weeks after a car accident when I was seven. Children weren’t allowed in the hospital to visit back then. One day my mom talked an orderly into taking her down to the lobby and I got to see her for a couple of minutes. Maybe this is why I have never been too fond of clowns. The chachki dirty, rusty and missing its hat got tossed.
There was the model cast iron stove complete with its own pots and pans with one leg broken off. There was the transistor radio I got when I was seven. There was my purse and prayer-book from my first holy communion, the beanie they made the freshman wear for high school initiation day that I refused to wear, a book on St. Bernadette and a book of Nursery Rhymes, the scary ones.
There were two stuffed animals. One was my favorite, a black and white puppy whose name escapes me. I never remember this puppy being very clean but I know I loved it unconditionally. I once hid it in the bottom of my ballet tote bag (the section where my shoes were supposed to go) and brought it to kindergarten for show and tell, unbeknownst to my mother. She thought I was bringing my ballet tote bag because it was red, shiny with sparkles and had this cool little compartment at the bottom for my dance shoes. I was a crafty little 5-year-old! The puppy remains as dirty as ever. The other stuffed animal was a hound dog. His name was Sad Sack because he was always floppy, floppy ears, floppy legs. He always looked sad to me. These little guys are truly filthy, lumpy and ratty. I am thinking of burying them in the backyard. I can't quite let go of them yet.
As a young child, my mother would often call me Betina Ballerina. I loved dancing although I am not so sure how good I was. I often danced around the house, loved my ballet lessons, but oddly I wasn’t too fond of the tap dance classes. I absolutely loved my white tutu with its silver sequined edges, hand sewn by my mother. Of course I did, otherwise how would it have been kept this long. In the box in a pink plastic bag was the yellowing and rotting tutu, the finish on the sequins worn, no longer shiny. Only I could love such a thing.
So I close this post with a beautiful photo of an absolutely stunning tutu, one fit for a real Prima Ballerina. I think when I wore my childhood tutu, that my mother made for me, I felt every bit the Prima as I danced around the living room. The imagination is powerful. I think I felt like I was wearing this princess-cut white crushed velvet, with silver snowflake tutu with appliqués and sequins. I think I could imagine that I was dancing just like Gelsey Kirkland.
If you do not know who Gelsey Kirkland is read more here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
"I danced with passion to spite the music" ~Gelsey Kirkland
