In this year of new beginnings, much has to be shed. Top on the list is my attachment to my daughters as my "baby girls". Yes, they will always be my babies (add additional sappy disclaimers here), but I have come to see that the amount of pain and suffering I cause myself clinging to the memories of my relationship with the little girls they once were.
And so I will tell the tale of my youngest, my sweet baby girl. My ballerina beauty. Now a Go-Go dancer at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino.
Ok first of all...Stop it! Its not that bad! She's not a stripper, she's a "go-go" dancer, ok? Innocent fun! So it takes place in a casino, with people smoking, drinking and gambling their lives away. It's the... "Hard Rock". You know...Sylvester Stallone and Bruce Willis' place?! Its where Nicole Smith died...she's famous! Its not just some sleazy bar.
And she is not pole dancing...its entertainment! Think Vegas! Show girls....yeah, like that.
How did this come to be? Well, it started with my daughter being a phenomenal dancer. In all genres (but tap, she hated tap) She was the prima ballerina in her dance studio, she won awards, beautiful lines, and great stage presence, excellent in Jazz and hip hop. The choreographers always placed her front and center. Simply put, the girl has moves!
Additionally, she is drop dead gorgeous. Thanks to her mixed heritage, she has an exotic bi-racial look. She has modeled since the age of 9 and has been approached by top agencies based on her instagram photos. If it weren't for her height, she would be a contender to become a Victoria's Secret angel. Seriously, she has that look.
As she approached 18, it was time for her to make a decision, and hers was that she did not desire to become a professional dancer. She knew the amount of training she would have to do to be a serious ballerina, and the back up lifestyle didn't appeal to her...auditions, living out of suitcases, always looking for the next gig. What good mother could argue with that?
However, during her last year at the studio, she became gainfully employed as an event dancer for bar and bat mitzvahs. Her job was to make sure that Ema and Aba had a good time, to dance along with the honoree and keep everyone in party mode. Part cheerleader, part line dancer, she loved it! Being paid to dance was fun, and the money was good. She made as much at one mitzvah as she would have in a week working in the mall. It was a good gig.
As these things happen, a fellow dancer friend worked for another event company, in this case for adult events. God get your head out of the gutter will you! Adult events...and the Hard Rock Casino. Some nights, she simply has to stand around in the lobby in a cute outfit dancing a little and greeting guests, other nights... she is dancing in a cage 20 feet above the casino's center bar.
Oh btw...did I mention that I am a feminist? Written papers about women's roles as sex symbols, objectified, etc..the entire rant? So is she. Her favorite class during her first semester of college was Society and Gender. Trust me, the irony of this is lost on either of us.
Back to the bar. One night, I decided it was time for me to actually see my daughter doing her thing. This was still a relatively new gig for her, and I was not totally comfortable with it. I knew it was ok, really, but still. Every time I told someone she was a go-go dancer, I got that look. The "oh" and eyes downcast. I had to see for myself.
That night I texted her to see if she would mind Mamma showing up at midnight. She texted back happily "Sure!" But no judgement! I have really short shorts on this time and I don't want to hear it." Ok, I thought, prepare yourself, no judgement. But who was I kidding. If I thought it was horrible I was 100% prepared to tell her and I will not allow her to do it, period.
As I walked from my car through the crowded hotel, I was intrigued by the scene itself. I left the party scene years ago and to see so many people out spending their money on booze, slot machines and smoky rooms...it struck me, "Who are these people?". Oh no...I was doing it! I was judging!
I entered into the main casino room and looked toward the center when my eyes landed on the bar. As I approached, I could see dancers on platforms down the center aisle ahead of me. In order to be more stealth, I quickly changed my approach and cut through the side aisles, thinking it might throw her off to see me approaching from afar.
As I came up to the bar, I couldn't find my girl. She wasn't on either of the platforms. Then something caught my eye. There up above the entire scene, was my girl...25 feet up in the air in the dancers "cage". Grooving and moving and waving to me. I laughed and smiled at her, as we do...because hey, that's my girl up there. In that moment, I knew it was ok.
It was quite a site. The center bar is an oval structure with two dozen varying sized tv monitors rising up all around, and then up about 20 feet above that is a platform surrounded by chain link fence, smaller at the bottom and fanning out at the top, like a funnel shaped cage.
And there she was. My baby girl. Her hair was done in a big loose mohawk type updo with intense dark eye makeup. She was wearing a big black feather top, with chains coming off of it, and as promised the short shorts, But she didn't look sleazy. It just looked like a costume. She danced well, lots of arm movements, nothing too provocative, mostly just eentertaining.
After the inital shock, I walked around and evaluated the scene. I went over to where one of the other girls was dancing on the platform just a few feet off from the floor. I preferred that my girl was up away from the glares of the crowd. They weren't nasty so much as they were curiously enthralled. The women and the men. But still, I didn't feature it so much.
I decided to have a seat. I watched for while. I took in the surrounding scene. The variety of souls, some looking lost, some simply having a good time. One particularly good looking man approached a machine nearby, and I was struck by two things: One that he was alone. The other the way he continued to stare at that slot machine, and watch the numbers roll..again, and again, and again.
There I sat, a plainly dressed woman, without a drink in my hand, my
back to the slots, I wondered what I must look like, just staring up at
this dancer. I laughed at the vision. Yet I also felt completely
invisible. I didn't fit in, and I just disappeared into the cacophony of sounds and visual stimuli.
As I watched my daughter, I was taken my motherly concern. It was tiring! I noticed when she lost her balance a little, she would grab onto the chain link part of the fence to stabilize herself. My maternal safety radar went on. "Don't hold onto the link, it could give way, hold onto the bar". I knew I would have to tell her this when I saw her. She might roll her eyes, and think "there she goes again, being over protective," but that is a label I'll wear as a mother. The way I see it, that's my job. We're like secret service agents. Our job is to anticipate trouble, to scan the buildings for snipers.
I sat there and choose to consciously process it all. I asked myself how I felt about her being up there, on display. I imagined her at 4 years old, and again at 8. I remembered how she bounced around the house when she booked her first modeling job, and recalled how exquisite she looked as the Snow Queen in the Nutcracker with her tiara and snow white tutu.
I rationalized...really how much different was this from her days of competition dance? The costumes, the make up, the performances for the judges. Ok, so now there were bouncers and booze and gambling, but her role in it, really wasn't much different.
I realized in that moment, that I had to acknowledge that my daughter had grown up. She was now a young woman. She was dancing now not for fun, but to make money to pay for her car insurance. This hurt me, because I wish I could still provide for all her needs. But I know that this is not the way. That she must learn, and earn and grow in the process of becoming an adult. I can't protect her from that, nor should I want to. It reminded me of the scene in Into the Woods, where Meryl Streep sings to Rapunzal..who she has locked away and tried to keep an innocent young child. You cannot stifle your children's growth, or they will resent you and you will lose them - the very thing you are so desperately trying to avoid.
This realization made me understand more clearly why she gets impatient with me when I treat her like a little girl. She is dancing in a casino to make money. She is not a little girl. Nor is she a whore. She is simply young and making money having fun. Who's smarter than her?
As these pangs of protection provoked my heart, I also reminded myself that I too worked in a night club at her age. I was a cocktail waitress in a club. I served drinks in a smoky room and got tips. My daughter doesn't get tips. In fact, no one is allowed to get near her. They have a very well organized system which includes a female handler who walks the girls to and from the green room to the bar for their shifts and bouncers who make sure no one lays a hand on them.
When her shift ended, and the handler came to whisk her and her fellow dancers away, she came to me quickly and gave me a peck on the cheek. Then she rushed off. I followed, I just had to deliver the one mom message about holding onto the bar instead of the chain link. I'm her mother after all. Its my job to protect her.
And off she flew in her feathers...I stayed awake until she came in at 3am. "Good night mamma"
Good night, baby girl...
The dancers
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