|Ester (standard:other, 513 words)|
|Author: gillian||Added: Apr 04 2001||Views/Reads: 1895/1||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Ester loves to dance but her body is the wrong shape for a professional dancer. A kind school teacher responds to her grief by offering to teach her to do something which might help her handle her sorrow. Ester accepts the offer and finds solace in her|
My name is Ester – it means star – and I am fifteen years old. I have been fighting addictions for years. I spend all of my childcare earnings on soda and junk food, none of which help my personality, my savings account or my figure; and none of which seem to give me more than a moment of pleasure. As I understand it, an addiction is a something which has been given power by the mind to replace another something; sort of Pavlovian. I feel sad, I drink a soda which I find to be sweet and good and for a few moments I no longer feel sad. Repeat experience. After several repetitions, the soda drinking replaces my sorrow and I have become addicted to it. You see, I am in love with dancing. I have always wanted to be a dancer but life has blessed me with a pear-shaped body. I am graceful; I have rhythm; but, my body is not ‘right’ and no dancing instructor will dance me in a performance, although they are perfectly happy to take money in exchange for lessons. I realize that junk food isn’t helping my shape but I was bulbous long before I became an addict. My struggle with my addiction became an entry in my English journal and when my teacher, Mrs. Drayton, read this piece, she said, “I might be able to help you replace your addiction with a healthier addiction; an addiction that would allow your hands to dance to a rhythm.” I knew there was nothing to lose and following Mrs. Drayton’s instructions, I took some of my earnings and purchased some pretty pink, purple and white space-dyed, soft, cotton yarn. Mrs. Drayton loaned me a pair of 6.5 mm knitting needles and showed me how to wrap the yarn around my fingers. Knitting felt very clumsy at first but she encouraged me and told me that it was like learning to hold a pencil and write and it would soon begin to feel natural. For 20 minutes I struggled to make my hands and fingers do what I wanted them to do before giving up. An hour later, I was busy with some homework and I realized how neat it had felt to work those needles and I wanted to experience that feeling again. I picked up the needles and had another go and this time everything felt right. I quickly produced a corner-to-corner dishcloth. The rhythm was soothing and I felt good about the little cloth that I had just made and I was eager to begin another project. Visions of hats and sweaters danced before my eyes. I had discovered another form of creativity. I still feel sad that I will never become a performing dancer but when the sorrow descends upon me, instead of yielding to my old junk- addiction, I take up my knitting. I relax into the rhythm, enjoy the colors and textures that are building before my eyes, and I feel a bond with all others who find solace and comfort in handwork. Tweet
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