Three weeks ago I signed Lindsay up for dancing lessons at a nearby dance studio. The first night I was worried whether she would be OK to go into the class. I imagined her clinging to me and crying. But I shouldn't have feared. She trotted into the class with the other little leotard-clad girls. And the school has a one-way window and I was able to see her skipping around in the class. (Cute doesn't even begin to describe the sight.) The teacher had them stand at the barre and jump while in a resemblance of different ballet positions. Halfway through the class they take off their shoes and do tumbling. It was so fun to watch the girls watch themselves as they jumped across the mat.
Last night was Lindsay's third night of dancing class. Judging by her big smile and squeal when she came out of the class, she had a good time again.
Of course I hope that she'll enjoy the class enough to want to stay in it until the recital in June. And I'd be lying if I didn't say I hope she enjoys it for years.
I was about 9 years old when I saw my first dance recital. My 3-year-old little sister took dancing lessons and we went to her recital. I loved the dances and I loved the costumes. A girl in my grade named Faith was in an upper level dancing class there. She must have started taking lessons when she was very young. She was in performances for ballet, tap, acrobatics and jazz. For each performance she wore the most wonderful costumes covered with spangles, fringe and tulle. I wanted to wear those costumes and do those dance moves too.
My mom signed me up for acrobatics that year. I was in a class with other girls who were beginning. We learned the usual beginner acrobatics stuff: cartwheels, headstands, backbends, handstands. Going to class and practicing was fun, but I couldn't wait until the recital. We began practicing our routine to the music. None of us were thrilled that our music was "Turkey in the straw." And while each of us performed an acrobatics solo, the others stood in a line bobbing up and down like country bumpkins. The costumes were the final insult. They were pink leotards with legs that went about halfway to our knees, ending in a ragged cut. Patches trimmed in sequins completed the bumpkin look. I gave a fine performance and should have been happy, but I wasn't -- not in that horrendous costume, dancing to "Turkey in the straw."
In contrast were Faith's beautiful costumes and awe-inspiring routines. She had one white leotard. For her ballet routine, set to beautiful ballet music, she wore blue tulle sleeves and a long blue tutu. For her jazz routine, set to a peppy disco song, she wore a fringe-covered skirt and fringe sleeves.
Naturally that fall I signed up for a class that included acrobatics, plus ballet and tap. Big mistake. In that class, I was the oldest there, and I felt like the Jolly Green Giant. I quit after a few months.
Lindsay is off to an early dancing start. Hopefully she'll be the dancing queen and get to wear the beautiful costumes and dance to the cool music.
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