jazz and muddy shoes

"Mildred Alice! Get down here this instant!" My mother called from the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm coming! Just let me finish doing my hair." Usually I wouldn't care about the way I looked, but today, I knew there was something different. I mean, I'm not psychic or anything, but my jazz examination results had gotten back, and if I scored high enough to earn an honorable mention in the 'thank you for participating' letter, I could be representing my whole dance studio at a national competition. With a name like Mildred, or especially Mildred Alice, you would expect me to be a ballerina, not a jazz expert. My mom was the ballerina and is so pristine I'm surprised I got to even start jazz. I guess I ought to thank my now seemingly non-existent father. After he moved into the middle of the countryside with his new wife I've hardly seen him. I guess I should send him an email or something.



Mom had my results in her hand and waved the envelope furiously. I took it out of her hands and tore it open. I passed her back the certificates and marking schedule and simply skimmed through the participation letter. "Mildred, you should really take more interests in the results from these exams." My mom said, but I hardly paid attention. The honorable mentions were at the bottom, as per usual. My name was on the list, right near the end, as it was in alphabetical order by last name. Mildred Alice Watson. I'd made it. "What are you grinning about?" Mom asked, commandingly.

"I got an honorable mention! I'm going to nationals!" Mom was not impressed.

"Nationals? Stop kidding yourself! You couldn't go! We can't afford it! Fork out the money yourself." This could turn out really badly.



That evening I decided to finally send that email to my dad.



Dear Michael Pablo Watson,

remember me? My name is Mildred Alice Watson, and genetically you are my father. But you may as well not be. My life seems almost better since you left mom. She's happy. Whats going on in your life? I've qualified for a national jazz competition. Hey, weren't you the guy who argued with my mother until she compromised and said I could do jazz? Whatever. I need a favor though. Nationals are quite near you, and I was wondering if I could to stay with you? Let me know. Soon.

sincerely, Mildred Alice



Dear Mildred Alice,

Of course! That answers most things you asked me are answered by that. You're welcome to stay any time. No date required. Just drop by. You remember where I live? Anyway, it's 36 Huckleby Way. See you when you come! I'm waiting anxiously.

Oh, and Congratulations on the nationals thing.

sincerely and with love, Dad



I decided there was no way for me to earn any money, so I decided to take a seemingly easy way out; I told mom I had a plane ticket and that she could just drop me off. Dad only lived a few miles out of the city. I could easily walk from the airport.



As I walked with my bag, filled with jazz stuff and clothes, I listened to my MP3 player and mouthed the words along. Too bad I didn't ask dad for his cell phone number. The water and mud from last night's rain slowly came seeping through my shoes. I forced myself to continue going, but it was getting dark. At least the first shops from the village were in sight. I knew dad only lived a short way away. Huckleby way. I had made it.



Dad was really supportive and things turned out for the best. Lianne, dad's wife and I guess my step-mother was really nice too and took a lot of interest in my dancing, she even moved all the furniture in her living room so I could practice.



I placed 3rd in the competition and told dad and Lianne that I wouldn't have if it wasn't for their support and hospitality. Mom had a civil conversation with dad. I even was allowed to stay with them for longer. I think I like my dad again now. "Milly, babe, you did it. I'm so proud." He said to me. He didn't say it directly, he told me in a card with a voucher to a souvenir store. I had to thank him. I loved my dad again.