It was a few years ago when one of my best friends Tahlia and I had a dream of what we wanted to do for the rest of our lives. Every single kid has their own peculiar and unique imagination; they could aspire to be absolutely anything from a professional hockey player to a Tyrannosaurus Rex if it made sense in their mind. In our case, we were striving to become super successful, super stunning, tween pop stars.
Our dream was ignited by a popular reality show called “The Next Star”. The show gave kids under the age of fifteen the opportunity to audition to become the next big musical icon. Ultimately, you could say it was an extremely bootleg and even crappier version of Canadian Idol for the youth. Tahlia and I had just turned nine years old and knew that it was time for our big break. We imagined ourselves on stage belting out lyrics and even hitting all the high notes like our girl Hannah Montana did every weeknight at 5:30pm. We selected our audition songs and rehearsed consistently for weeks on end before the auditions came to Toronto. Contrary to popular belief, these rehearsals were highly professional. Our rehearsals included using our hairbrushes as microphones, practicing our hair flips and letting The Cheetah Girls teach us choreography on YouTube. We were prepping ourselves to be the best of the best.
In addition, the both of us had also planned out our outfits two weeks in advance to ensure we were camera ready for our potential five seconds of fame. Her parents and my mom were immensely supportive of our dream. On the other hand, my dad was urgently trying to snap me back into reality. However, being the lovely and attentive daughter I was, his words flew through one ear and out the other.
The day of our audition had finally arrived. The two of us woke up at the break of dawn to start getting ready for the first day of the rest of our lives. We had a sleepover the night before and had been wondering how Joe and Nick Jonas would ask us out once we gained our places in the spotlight. With that motivation in our mind, we got ourselves dolled up and ready to go. Eventually, Tahlia’s mom honked from outside to let us know that it was time to leave. I slung my guitar over my shoulder and walked out with a smile so bright it could shun all of Hollywood. We were ready to rock the socks off of these judges. Since the auditions were taking place downtown, we had plenty of time to warm up our vocal chords and play “M.A.S.H” during the car ride.
After the time had passed and before the three of us even got to the parking lot, we witnessed the never ending line of tweens. Tahlia and I exchanged a look of reassurance, as to say to one another, “We can beat all of these morons”. No one could get in the way of this fierce dynamic duo. As Tahlia’s mom started walking us towards the building, two women, still drunk from their wild night, wobbled their way towards us. Tahlia’s mom quickly grabbed us as the women got closer and guided us away from them as they slurred their words to complement our outfits and wish us good luck on our auditions. At least we had a fan base going into this.
The line was hectic and enduring. It was so packed with people that we might as well have all been singing sardines trying to wiggle our way into fame and fortune. The anticipation was getting to us, until a lady called us up to the table to register. We were stoked about finally becoming one step closer to being superstars. The lady asked for our registration forms, which we had on hand and ready. This was it. We were already picturing our names on billboards and on the headlines of newspapers. Tahlia and I squealed of excitement.
And then it happened, the moment where our dream of two months broke into a billion pieces. The lady asked for our two pieces of photo identification. We had no idea we had to bring it. What kind of photo I.D are nine year old girls supposed to bring? Let alone two different copies? I had a Mario Kart driver’s license from a past birthday party, but otherwise, we had no kind of identification on us whatsoever. This would have been the perfect time to throw a Kanye West diva fit. Perhaps I should have thrown my guitar over my head and smashed it on the ground could resemble the broken billion pieces that was our dream. Enraged, utterly heartbroken and left with no other option, we exited the line and walked back towards the car.
Writers Note:
This is a childhood anecdote I wrote recently for my writer’s craft class (that may I add got a great mark on) and felt like it was humorous enough to share here on my blog. Enjoy one of the most embarrassing days of my childhood and have a laugh!
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