Everything old becomes new again, or so it seems. From fashion to television and movies.
The latest Australian show to be recycled is Young Talent Time. I know people who have watched it, and report that it’s great. The ads that I’ve seen, it looks polished, professional and a great vehicle for young people to dance and sing, and do what they love. I haven’t watched it. I can’t.
I know it will probably seem strange, but for me it’s a trigger. A billion years ago when I was nine, I went to the Young Talent Time School. It was a dance and singing school, full of kids all wanting to be stars. It wasn’t something I wanted to do. It was something I was sent to. By the man who is my father. He was an entertainer. And he wanted his girls to follow suit, so they could perform with him.
Now my sister, four years younger than me, was a gorgeous little thing. Vivacious, with big blue eyes, and lips so red that even at five people always thought she had lipstick on, and long brunette hair. She took to it like a fish to water. She wanted to be a star. Me, on the other hand, at nine, was an extremely skinny, freckly, knobbly kneed, glasses wearing, awkward looking…nerd. Who wanted to disappear.
There were lots of “stars in the making”, beautiful little beings who could hold a note and jazz hands like no tomorrow. And all of these potential stars had mothers who primped and puffed and paraded. Then there was my mum, who constantly had the “deer-caught-in-the-headlights” look. She hated it as much as I did.
It will probably seem odd that I find going to a singing and dance school such an unpleasant experience. I don’t think I will be watching the new Young Talent Time. It hurts too much. The nine year old inside of me physically cringes and withdraws every time the ad comes on. It reminds her too much of what else was going on in her young world at the same time that made her want to disappear. Triggers are funny like that.