Today, We’ll Be Learning The Potty Dance

When I was three or four years old, I took dance lessons in a class with other kids the same age. There was a window between the dance room and the hallway outside where parents could sit and check in on their kids. My mom usually did that because the classes weren’t too long.

One day in class, I had to use the bathroom, so I asked the teacher for permission. She said I could not. Shortly after I clarified that I really did need to use the bathroom, but she still denied me. She wouldn’t let me take a short and non-disruptive trip out of class, but she did find it appropriate to let me sit and cry on the floor next to my classmates, as she directed me to do while the other kids were dancing.

Soon, my mom looked in the window and saw what was happening, and she was furious. She took me out of the dance room and then chewed out a superior at the dance studio, who was somehow on the side of the dance instructor.

I never went back to that awful dance studio, and soon after this ordeal, we found a better dance studio that let young children use the bathroom on time.

What was ridiculous about this whole experience was that I missed out on dancing much more by being told I could just sit on the floor and cry than if the teacher had just let me use the bathroom. I don’t remember this, but my mom tells me it took a lot of convincing for me to trust that my preschool teachers would actually let me use the bathroom, so apparently, this experience stuck with me.