Recent news is dominated by stomach-churning accusations of abuse of minors in show business. As allegations crop up and icons fall, we wonder how young people end up in such vulnerable positions. Stardom is tempting, however, and many of us are lured toward its siren song.
My daughter was four when she discovered the stage. After a ballet folklorico performance during which she stamped her little feet and shook her billowing skirt, she stayed onstage blowing kisses to the audience long after the other dancers were back in the wings, until an adult came out to retrieve her.
A production of Rapunzel — adorable in the way that only five-year-olds on stage can be — cemented her love of theater. Thus began years of school plays and dance competitions. I learned the art of intricate hair and makeup, and she learned to change entire outfits in less than two minutes, no matter how sweaty she was or how complicated her costumes were.
While we were fortunate to belong to a community of like-minded parents, I quickly became aware of the pitfalls inherent in theater and dance. Dance competitions are crowded with gaggles of half-dressed little girls with shellacked hair and an abundance of makeup and glitter, shaking their ruffled bottoms provocatively to show tunes. Watching a troupe of seven-year-olds with their button-down shirts tied above their belly buttons strut to Dolly Parton’s “Nine To Five,” I realized that dance competitions are potentially a pedophile’s paradise. With no way to distinguish between well-meaning fathers and strangers with nefarious intentions, I kept my daughter close, kept my eye on those who photographed the girls, and thanked our dance teacher for her creative, modest costumes.
Still, I wasn’t immune to the temptation of bright lights and fame. When my daughter was in kindergarten, her theater teacher suggested she look for an agent. Modeling or acting, the teacher pointed out, could help us sock away a nice college fund. I was flattered that someone recognized my daughter’s potential, and the financial aspect seemed promising. We sent headshots out to local agents and waited to see who would jump at the chance to work with this beautiful, talented child.
No agent ever called.
I didn’t pursue the idea until a representative from a modeling agency stopped us as we strolled around the rodeo one sunny Saturday. “Your daughter has that spark,” she said. “Have you ever thought about having her model or act?”
Every mom believes her daughter is special; we’re just waiting for the world to realize it. I let the representative talk me into taking my daughter to an audition, which turned out to be a pitch to entice us to commit to $2,000 of acting and modeling classes. We fell for this scam more than once; there’s something intoxicating about being told your child has star power. After each audition, we would face the task of consoling our crushed daughter while explaining to her that we didn’t have the money to enroll her in the classes being touted.
At a dance workshop in Los Angeles, she was finally offered her big break. An agent stopped me as I was walking with my children, complimented their looks, and explained that she was looking to cast actors for a well-known Nickelodeon show. She gave me her card and told us she would like my children to audition in Beverly Hills the following Monday.
I was torn. If my daughter wanted to get into acting, here was her chance. Yet doubt rushed in. In addition to the logistical nightmare that landing any acting job in Los Angeles would create, the cultural climate alarmed me. I couldn’t name one child actor who had grown up to be a successful adult in recent years. Instead their names were linked with drug abuse, eating disorders, romantic entanglements, and rehab clinics. Would thrusting my daughter into this environment shift her developing moral compass? How does a parent keep a child well-grounded among such influences? Would power, money, and beauty become our guiding lights?
Both of my children were eager to audition, and heartbroken when I told them they couldn’t. Even knowing that this was my daughter’s dream, I couldn’t bring myself to throw a naïve 12-year-old to the wolves of Hollywood. I gently told her that for now, school plays and dance team would have to suffice. “Maybe when I’m seventeen?” she asked hopefully. “By then my morals and ethics should be pretty solid.” I smiled and said, “We’ll see.”
Years later, Hollywood has not called back. My daughter still dreams of fame, and I occasionally guiltily wonder if I cheated her of a chance at early success. Recent news saddens and angers me, but I’m relieved and reassured as well, knowing safe is better than famous.
