The intention here is not to compare.
But the wound is so, so deep that I had to pen this down — hoping that writing it might help me forget… or at least move on.
Today, I received a video from Kidzee Sayajipura and saw my daughter dancing in full swing. It was beautifully captured by the school’s professional videographers. Watching her made me happy.
But it also triggered something.
It pulled me back to those dreadful days — the ones that still haunt me and quietly hurt me from within.
Her first performance in Pre-KG was something I eagerly looked forward to as a mother. Like every mother, I was excited beyond words to see her dance on stage. We were seated far from the stage, but we managed to watch her perform. We clicked a few long-distance photos and videos on our phones. The event was live-streamed, and we were assured that a professional HD copy would be available online.
We returned home tired but excited. We opened the video to relive the moment.
And that’s when my heart shattered.
Her First Dance Deserved Applause… Not Disappearance
My daughter was completely hidden behind a stage prop — a large horse cut-out placed right in front of her. She wasn’t visible in the official video at all.
I broke down.
I cried uncontrollably.
And my little girl kept saying,
“Amma, I danced well… I danced well… don’t cry.”
I told her I couldn’t see her in the video.
She calmly said, “I was standing behind the horse prop,” and then she began dancing at home to show me how she had performed at school.
I hugged her tightly.
But inside, I was angry.
I was disappointed.
I was frustrated.
I felt helpless.
When she grows up, I won’t have her first school stage performance to show her.
When she grows up, will she believe me if I say she stood behind a prop and danced beautifully?
I felt unlucky. Deeply unlucky.
While I was crying, her tiny fingers wiped my tears.
I immediately messaged the teacher requesting a clear video of her performance. After a few hours, she managed to send a vague clip taken by another parent. But it wasn’t the same. The effort, the time, the preparation — everything felt wasted.
Maybe today my daughter won’t remember.
But years from now, I need something to show her.
It has been more than a year now. And every time I think about it, my heart still feels heavy.
She wasn’t even selected initially for the dance. She was chosen at the last minute because another child opted out midway. When the teacher asked her, she immediately nodded — because she loves to dance.
My daughter did her Pre-KG at Chennai VBC (2024–2025). I happily agreed to let her participate, even though she had just recovered from two weeks of illness and hospitalization.
The dance practices were scheduled at unpredictable hours. As a working mother, it was extremely difficult to manage.
One day, practice was at 9:00 AM.
Another day at 10:00 AM.
Another day at 2:00 PM — during her nap time.
When I informed the teacher that she was asleep, I was told to wake her up and bring her immediately because the management wanted to see the children perform.
We somehow managed the constant pick-up and drop arrangements. We adjusted daycare timings. We rearranged work schedules. My daughter became cranky from disturbed sleep. But we continued — because she loved dancing.
Five Hours, No Water… And No Video of Her First Performance
On the day of the performance, she was dropped at school three hours before her turn. The entire event lasted over two hours. My preschooler — who had just recovered from illness — was not given water for more than five hours.
Watching that was painful.
After the performance, the children were asked to find their shoes from a pile and put them on their own.
The jewellery I had put on my daughter went missing.
We had spent a significant amount on costumes, jewellery, transport adjustments, daycare changes, and endless coordination.
Was it worth it?
No.
A big no.
I am still upset with the teacher and the management. When you organize a grand event that is live-streamed, shouldn’t you ensure basic technical checks? With so many practice sessions — exhausting little children — how can something as simple as stage positioning fail?
Did the videographer not notice that a child was completely hidden? Why hire amateurs for an event that captures once-in-a-lifetime memories?
The Day I Trusted the School, And Lost a Once-in-a-Lifetime Memory
Did you realize that every parent standing below that stage carries a dream?
That this is not just a performance — it’s a memory we treasure forever?
We invest time.
We invest money.
We invest emotion.
And for the children?
Who will answer my daughter when she grows up and asks to see her first stage performance?
If you ask why I didn’t record it on my phone — because I trusted you.
Had I known she wouldn’t be visible, I would have stood right in front of the videographer and recorded it myself.
I didn’t lift my phone and block another parent’s view. I sat calmly, respectfully, enjoying the moment — believing there was an HD-quality video being captured.
Maybe that was my mistake.
Like other parents, maybe I should have rushed to the front, blocked someone else’s view, and recorded it myself — because you failed.
You may call it a successful event.
But from the bottom of my heart — for all the struggles my little one went through —
You failed.
Badly.
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