I mentioned in an earlier article that I frequently watch the reality show "Dance Moms"on Lifetime. I am worried, however, that some readers may have written this off as just a whimsical anecdote, just another cutesy meme-ready hobby like eating Nutella or having a ‘relationship’ with pizza. So I’m writing today to explain that my relationship with "Dance Moms"is much, much deeper than that. See, my relationship with "Dance Moms"is special because about five years ago my Middle School Principal Holly resigned from her position, took her daughter out of our school, and joined the cast of this televised sideshow.

I first learned about the show when I was working in my school’s Extended Day program, babysitting a gaggle of young kids including one of Holly’s sons. We were talking about what we did over the summer. One of the kids said, “I went to Disney World!” Holly’s son said, “My family was on TV show!” I assumed maybe they were on a local news clip about kids at the public swimming pool, beating the summer heat, or even a special about Pittsburgh educators and their children. Then he brought up a clip on the computer; an obese, disheveled woman spilling out of her leotard stomped over to Holly’s daughter Nia and screamed: “You’ll never make it to Sheer Talent LA with those pirouettes you miserable little girl!!”

A week later, I decided to forgo my homework in favor of the world premiere of "Dance Moms." Here’s the run-down: Holly and four other moms sit in this glass booth above a dance studio and watch as the aforementioned Abby Lee Miller verbally berates their daughters as if they were drive thru workers telling her the ice cream machine was down. Each week Abby reveals a pyramid, in which she stacks headshots of the girls on top of each other according to how well she likes them. Maddy (the little girl from Sia’s “Chandelier” video) is usually on top, and Holly’s daughter Nia is usually on the bottom. The rest of the episode is spent following the moms as they throw shade and side-eyes at each other in the box--it hasn’t been a successful "Dance Moms"episode unless one mother has referred to another as a female dog or told Abby they were quitting and then came back at the last minute. We also follow the daughters as they memorize that week’s 30-second combination of the same few acrobatic tricks and tumbles in the hope of winning a bigger trophy than last week and defeating their rival dance group, the Candy Apples. Not all the daughters want to dance; one clearly states that she only showed up because her mom promised to buy her tacos. At the end of the routines, Abby likes to have the girls reach out to the audience with a wistful look on their faces, as if grasping for the hands of a social worker.

I spent the first few months of the show bemusedly recalling things that Holly had told us at school and putting them in the context of her behavior on the show. For instance: Think also of the comforts and rights of others. “You are a monstrosity of evil,” Holly says to Abby. Always respect peoples’ differences. “You are entitled to your wrong opinion, that’s fine,’ Holly tells another Mom. Your skirt must not be three inches or more above the knee, girls. *Holly’s daughter and her classmates gyrate against a metal fence in sexy prison garb for a theme dance* The greatest irony was that throughout the show, Holly constantly referred to herself as ‘an educator.’ However, the only thing Holly was teaching me was that my entire childhood was a lie.

The show has gone on for five years now; the mothers’ faces have become more caricatured and plastic, Kira’s mole mysteriously disappeared, Abby had liposuction. The girls have all released auto-tuned pop songs, Maddy texts with Shia LaBoeuf. But still, that burning question haunts all of Holly’s ex-students, when we bump into each other during drunken nights back home, and our parents in between discussions of NPR and farm-share programs at brunch. Why? Why did Holly do this to herself? Why would a woman with a PhD in Education from an Ivy League School willingly abandon her position at the helm of a ‘prestigious’ ‘private’ ‘school’ in order to become fodder for ridiculed 10-second clips on Tosh.0 and The Soup? Was this her plan all along? I mean, I know there was that time she wore an orange Juicy jumpsuit to parent-teacher conferences, but really?

However, much like the roots of alcoholism and depression, I have come to understand more about Holly since I started attending college. In moments of sadness, confusion, panic, or mere whimsy, I have done things that completely contradicted my beliefs. I will never give up my love of theatre. I don’t care if I make any money. “Hey Registrar, here is my Econ major paperwork.” I will always speak out against racist jokes or statements. First Economics internship: “*Silence*” I will never text that guy again. He said my chest acne looked like pizza. “2:46 AM: Did sum1 order Dominoes?!? ‘Cuz I’m right outside your dorm. ;)”

I would only be in a position to judge Holly if I had held firmly to every single of my own moral principals; I clearly have not. Also, who are we (the parents and children at my school) to define what success should mean for Holly? I’m sure a big fear in her mind when deciding whether to do the show was: What will people think? Props to her for not giving a single fuck. I had a similar fear a few weeks ago when deciding whether or not to publish my first article on this website. Should I really say, “Ramsey likes ting-tings in his bum-bum” in a public forum? Holly, forever the educator, inspired me to just go for it. I’m not going to say that Holly is now at the top of my pyramid, but she is no longer at the bottom. (Her daughter Nia, unfortunately, remains at the bottom of Abby’s pyramid).

This may sound like I am using some poetic license, but I actually had a dream the other night that I ran into Holly. She was out with the other moms at a beach-side seafood restaurant, and I was there in a two-piece bathing suit, which is weird because I hate seafood. I remember walking up to their table, tapping Holly on the shoulder, and saying, “Hey, I don’t know if you remember me, but I used to be your student at Winchester?”

Of course Holly remembered me. I was always so well-behaved, she said. No amount of money, fame, and public shame could make Holly forget little Ramsey.

“Let me buy you a drink,” she insisted. As we raised our Fireball shots, we looked each other in the eyes. The irony was unbearable. The last time we met, she was in a business suit giving announcements at Winchester Thurston School, while I looked on in my khaki pants and white collared shirt. Now here we were; she, a dubious celebrity and myself, in a two-piece bathing suit intended for the opposite gender. We laughed and made a toast. “To questionable decisions and unexpected choices, to a rambling, adventurous path through life, and to not giving a damn what prissy private school kids will say.”