TheBanyanTree: Twyla's Twirlers

[Julie Anna Teague]

Quoting Roger Pye <pyewood at pcug.org.au>:

> Whatever
> possessed my mother to enrol me in Mrs Emmy Jorrock's Supreme
Ballet
> Dancing Academy 61 years ago I shall never know because after I
left
> in virtual disgrace

Ah, how I would've loved to have gone there.  And I can say that only
because I never did.  I lived in a small Southern Indiana town where
there were no ballet academies and how I yearned to learn ballet.  I
never brought it up because it was such a complete impossibility in
any case, and I doubt my mother ever even guessed at my interest
because I was otherwise such a tomboy.  But I wanted the tutu and the
whole thing.  I would practice pointing my toes, thinking, in my tiny
six year old pea brain, that pointing the toes perfectly was half the
battle.  I must've done this quite a bit because I can still put both
my heels and toes together, feet pointed perfectly straight and
thighs zipped together tightly in a perfect ballet pose.  This
imaginary ballet perfection was never put to the test, and it was
only years later that I realized ballerinas do not have bubble butts
or boobs or short-legged little bodies.  No doubt I would have only
humiliated myself in ballet class, but in my mind, I would've been
good at it. 

As things stood, I did get to enroll in Twyla's Twirlers for a brief
time.  Twyla was a local girl who, for four glorious years, was the
premier baton twirler and drum majorette at Otwell High School (where
there were 25 kids per grade level when I was growing up).  Being
really good at baton twirling did not open a lot of doors,
career-wise, so after high school her career became teaching every
little girl in our area how to twirl a baton and march in a parade. 
We were in awe of Twyla, because we'd seen her marching there in
front of the band in her all-sequin outfit and her tall white boots. 
We'd seen her throw two batons into the air, seen them spinning madly
up and up, held our collective breath while Twyla make two complete
rotations in her white boots, and then catch both batons.  It was
simply thrilling.

The best part of being one of Twyla's twirlers, aside from watching
Twyla, was getting to wear white boots and a blue velveteen outfit in
the Fourth of July parade.  The second best part was owning and
playing with a baton, which was a very nicely weighted thing and
twirled around one's hand with very little effort.  The worst part
was having to learn to actually twirl, toss, and catch the baton,
which I wasn't particularly good at.  I spent a lot of time
retrieving a rolling baton.  I did get a few moves down, though.  And
I have impressed many people over the years with my extremely mediocre
baton twirling skills, because, as I learned when I left Otwell,
Indiana, baton twirling is not as big a deal out there in the real
world.  Our heroine Twyla was actually unknown outside of our small
county, and not many little girls had the fortunate experience of
learning this amazing skill, or even longed to.  For a good part of
my childhood, I had apparently lived in a tiny bubble, trapped in
time and space. 

I have blocked out all (or most) memory of my innate clumsiness and
my extremely introverted small self quaking and shivering before the
mighty Twyla and dropping the baton whenever her eyes were on me.  I
have dis-remembered that she paid me little heed because I was never
going to be a star student, or even a good student.  I have tried to
forget the kudos that came with the perfection of my friend Cindy's
twirling abilities, or Cindy's sister Terri, who took over Twyla's
enviable position at the head of the band.  Cindy, too, eventually
worked herself up to the all-sequin level.  I remember only the blue
velveteen body suit and the feel of the baton, with its white rubber
ends and silvery flakes peeling off, falling over and over my palm
and the backs of my knuckles.  In my mind it remains a perfect
experience.

Julie