Personal Narrative Essay

I could feel my legs shaking and my mind racing as my mother parks the car. I open the car door and run over to my mother in search of security. We are walking towards a building, which I have never seen. My right hand squeezes my mothers as my left hand squeezes my brand new shiny black tap shoes. We walk into this strange building; the walls are painted neon pink with little pink cubbies surrounding the room. There are about ten girls my age all dressed in pink tutus and pink leotards. I am wearing a black leotard with no sparkly pink tutu. My mom tells me that she will pick me up in an hour and to have fun. This was not a familiar environment to me, I grew up watching my older sister on the basketball court while my dad was on the bench coaching the girls and yelling on the top of his lungs. Basketball was a family tradition and I chose to go a different route. This building was soft, girly, quiet, and almost relaxing, something I was not used to.
The other girls who were all sitting together by the class door looked at me strange as I walked over to the closest bench and sat down all by myself. I held my new dance shoes close to me. The teacher came out and instructed us to all put on our dance shoes; we made our way into the class where I was no longer separated from the other girls. As I grew up, I realized that my dance shoes weren’t

As I tried them on I realized how uncomfortable these new shiny dance shoes are, but to me it really didn’t matter because anything was better than those smelly basketball shoes which my father had planned for me to be wearing instead of girly dance shoes. At that point, I don’t believe my mother realized that she would be buying approximately two to four pairs of dance shoes a year. It was like Christmas every time I got a new pair. I had jazz shoes; tap shoes, ballet shoes, and hip-hop shoes. You name it; I had multiple pairs of