Class Act

For years now I’ve wanted to get Kali involved in some kind of extra curricular activity. It’s been hard because most activities are ridiculously expensive and Kali is ridiculously picky.

When she was four she took ballet at her preschool for a year. She enjoyed it, but became too old for that particular program once she started kindergarten. Since then, we looked into piano lessons and soccer. Both were very expensive. We were thisclose to signing her up for soccer, but when we explained that she’d have to attend weekly practice and compete against other teams, her interest quickly waned. Thank God too, because the costly registration and uniform fees were non-refundable.

A few weeks ago, Kali’s school sent home some information on local activities for kids. One that caught my eye was a creative arts program. The class meets once a week for an hour to learn acting, dance, and video production. They put on two performances a year and it was only $50 a month. I told Kali we’d be going to the signup – with complimentary pizza and beverages – whether she liked it or not.

She did not.

She hit the roof. She insisted that she’d be no good at singing, dancing, and acting and that she didn’t want to talk in front of other people. I explained to her that she had no idea what she was good at because she refused to try anything. She agreed to go simply for the free food and also, the small minor detail that she really had no damn choice.

Now, I’m not a fan of parents pushing their kids to participate in programs against their will, but my child has never tried anything past the elementary ballet lessons. I figured I’d pay for it for a month or two and if she didn’t like it – or sucked at it – I’d pull her out.

Saturday, my Mom and I took Kali and my little sis (who is very much interested in the performing arts) to the all-you-can-eat pizza buffet place in order to sign up for the program. I’d warned Kali before we left, “Don’t get there and act like you’ve never had anything. You can have one slice of pizza, maybe two, and something to drink.”

It was the ghettoest thing I’ve ever seen. There was no organization at all. The director who ran the program looked like she’d had a Xanax shake before we got there. There were no forms to fill out, no program schedule and the website promised that each child would receive a bag of items needed for class complete with a journal – I didn’t see those either.

The director floated around talking to each parent without saying much of anything. Kali sat and ate her two slices of pizza with a smug look on her face. She knew I was not feeling it. When the director made her way to our table, she couldn’t even tell me the exact address of where the classes would be held. She was not getting my $50!

“Mommy, can I get more pizza and maybe a brownie?”

“Sure, Kali. Eat up.”

Not all is lost. Friday, her school sent home a sign-up sheet for a book club. Every other week Kali will stay after school for an hour to meet with the club. They discuss the assigned books and come up with questions about what they read. Then they practice competing with each other using a buzzer to answer the questions. The ten best participants will make up a team that competes against other book clubs in the county in February. Cost? $5 to cover the snacks provided at the meetings.

“I don’t want to do it!”

“But you like to read!”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to do the buzzer thing.”

“Are you kidding? Buzzers are fun! I’m all about buzzing in before the other guy. It’s awesome!”

“I don’t want to compete on a stage and have everyone looking at me.”

Now, I reason that if she doesn’t like the competition part of the meetings, she’ll suck at it and won’t make the team. And that’s fine. But I want her to have the experience of discussing books with other students. Book clubs are fun!

“Fine! But I’m only going cause there’s gonna be snacks!”

“Yeah, that and I’m making you.”

Are you sensing a pattern here?