The Missing Button

DISCLAIMER: Although this is a true story, this isn't my story. This is the story of my son, who is fully aware I've written this piece about him.

I had to go on stage in front of a thousand people with my pants unbuttoned.

As a male dancer, life can be hard. I’m ridiculed and bullied on a daily basis. I’m told I’m weird, I’m told I’m queer, I’m told I must be gay for being a dancer. Not that it’s a problem if I am, but it still hurts to be teased constantly simply by doing what I love.

I’ve danced since I was eight. I started out doing children’s theatre productions and quickly fell in love with dancing, sticking primarily to dance over the years. Despite being teased, despite being in a world dominated by females, despite walking into a class and more times than not being the only male in the entire class, I’ve kept with it all these years.

I’ve had my share of mishaps and blunders throughout my dancing career. Although, I will say, I’ve never dropped a girl during a lift. As one of the only male dancers, I’m expected to do a lot of lifts. I put one girl after another over my head and spin them around as if it’s easy. This year, I’m also expected to lift the only other male dancer in our classes. This is a very touching and motivational dance for us that I’m looking forward to competing for competitions, despite corona putting a damper on my senior year of high school.

Every Christmas season we do the Nutcracker Production in our hometown. Although, our dance director puts a twist on the classic and makes it more modern and exciting, allowing each and every dancer at the studio, from the littlest two-year-old all the way to the graduating senior, dance on the big stage in front of a large crowd of people. I’ve danced in this production for years.

When I was sixteen, we were at yet another Nutcracker performance. I was in nine different dances that night. All these dances required costume changes, shoe changes, props, and lots of lifts.

My aunt is almost always put in charge of helping me out backstage. We are only five years apart and just like me, she grew up on the stage. She actually runs one of the theatres in our town now and knows just about everything there is about how to run a show. She helps me change out of costumes, keeps me hydrated, and makes sure I get on stage when I need to. It’s not uncommon for her to jump in and help every other dancer look their best or step in to take over when the staff have a complete meltdown. I’m sure she could tell you all kinds of horror stories. Primarily she’s put in charge of helping me and my siblings change costumes during the show.

My mother sends us to the dressing room with a detailed list of what each of us need to wear for each dance, nude colored underclothing for modesty, hair and makeup done, as well as a bin full of everything me or my siblings or even any of the other dancers might need. She leaves us in my aunt’s hands, so she and my dad can sit in the audience and enjoy seeing their kids on stage.

On this particular night, the auditorium of the largest theatre in our town was full. Dancers were excited, everyone was ready, costumes were laid out and everything seemed to be going according to plan. I was set. I got through the first few dances I was in with no problem. My aunt buttoned shirts, changed out socks, slipped my sisters into tutus, fixed straps, slipped shoes on, and made sure we all looked good. Everything was going well.

Until…

I had just one song in between coming off stage and going back out on stage. Quick changes are always hard. I pulled off a pair of black pants and quickly pulled on my white pair of pants. I wore the black pants for most of the dances, but this dance needed us in all white. I tucked in my white shirt and went to button the pants just moments before I had to go onstage. The problem? The button was gone. Somehow the button to my pants had fallen off and was nowhere to be found.

I freaked out and asked my aunt what to do. She searched in the maybe ten seconds we had if anyone had a safety pin handy. No one around us did and that special box of everything you might need my mother packs for every show was in a dressing room down the hall. There was no possible way anyone would make it there in time to get me a safety pin.

My aunt looked at me and with a straight face told me, I’d have to just go without. As a true dancer and a dedicated theatre pro, I walked out on stage with my pants hanging open. I had to very strategically hold my pants up with my elbow or widened legs without it looking too obvious that my dance moves might not be entirely matching everyone else. This specific dance was also the dance I was front and center and doing lift after lift of multiple girls.

I danced on stage in front of close to a thousand parents, family members, friends, and strangers with my pants open. I did it flawlessly full of confidence, and I didn’t drop one of those girls no matter how hard it was to keep my pants up.

While I was onstage dancing, my aunt ran back to that dressing room and grabbed a sewing kit out of that special box. As I came off the stage, she pulled me aside and sewed a new button on to the pants while I still wore them.

The following year, when I was cast as the coveted Nutcracker Prince, guess who made sure she had a safety pin on her at all times? I believe she may have even stuck a sewing kit in her back pocket. Just in case.