Member-only story
The Late-Blooming Belly Dancer
In the garden of life, the late bloomers are especially beautiful. — Susan Gale
When I was just a little girl, I became enamored with the “I Dream of Jeannie” show. I watched it faithfully every week and “played” genie in between the episodes. I crafted a costume, pilfering one of Grandma’s scarves for my veil, and rooted around in the cupboards until I found a suitable genie bottle I could decorate and pretend was my “home.”
My interest turned into obsession, as these things often do with children. I was so enchanted with this new persona that for a period of time, whenever asked the proverbial question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I enthusiastically responded, “A belly dancer!” I’m sure my mother was mortified and, on more than one occasion, had to follow up with an explanation of my Jeannie obsession.
Even the nuns who taught at the parochial school I attended gave each other sideways glances and managed weak smiles before moving the conversation on to safer, more appropriate subject matter. I can only imagine their discussions over dinner at the convent. The light-hearted among them finding it cute and amusing, while the sterner sisters insisting that it was no joke, that I would “come to no good end” (like all things they disapproved of) and admonishing the others to…
