What If Ballet is Your Thing?
Dear Clara,
I write this to you as you turn FOUR. Maybe you will read it one day and ballet will have been something you tried when you were little, or it could be something you have given your life to completely. Having no idea which way, I want to remark on how you were when you were trying it, how you were when you began.
Geoff and I wanted to try to put you guys in some extra-curriculars this semester. Having read thru different programs, the WDA had me at their handbook with the uniforms for each of the levels--pre ballet, elementary and advanced. Yours, of course, would call for pink and of course too, a specific hairstyle for all dancers.
The locker room is as important to you as the class itself. A real studio with a real locker room, which is a space with high ceilings,wooden cubbies and huge willow baskets for lost and found. There is a kitchen in there with a huge collection of ceramic mugs, some with Russian names, some chipped and old with conservatories' names. But more importantly, the way you watch the older ballerinas. Some of them spend their whole Saturdays there, so we see them stretching on the wood floor of the locker room, arched over their books, snapping their gum and tying their shoes.
You didn't want to wear legwarmers until you saw the big girls. You beam and raise your chin when you chat with them. When we stayed to watch an advanced class upstairs, you whispered your commentary to me, "Her leg is shaking too much" and "I like her purple sweater shorts." They would rehearse the same steps to one very short piece of music. This did not tire you the way it did me. You seemed to perceive the distinction that the dancers were making with each repetition.
And when you enter your own class, you carry the same accuity to the scarf-dancing and even the goofy freeze dances. The pre-ballet studio is small, with a very old barre, but the high celilings are wonderful for when the music plays. Every dime spent on behalf of this program is cashed in with the observations you are making about what it is to be a girl, about your own body's sense of movement in space. I only look into the little window a few times, nervous to cast a spell of apprehension or self-consciousness on you. When I do look in, I hope my eyes tell you how proud I am, how utterly tickled I am, and what a clear joy it is to be your mother. When you file out with your classmates for water break, you come out up on toes, arms raised in a circle, it is everything I can do NOT to give a standing ovation.
What a gift you are, an inspiring person even at this young age. You dig into your life so well, you scale every obstacle. Right now, you have Dad's powers of observation, his love of biking, his passion for the poor. You have my sense of deep conviction, my love of language, and my addiction to Sharpies. Just like with the ballet, all these attributes might change or they might weave right in there and stay on. Who knows but my goodness, Clara, it's marvelous now.
I write this to you as you turn FOUR. Maybe you will read it one day and ballet will have been something you tried when you were little, or it could be something you have given your life to completely. Having no idea which way, I want to remark on how you were when you were trying it, how you were when you began.
Geoff and I wanted to try to put you guys in some extra-curriculars this semester. Having read thru different programs, the WDA had me at their handbook with the uniforms for each of the levels--pre ballet, elementary and advanced. Yours, of course, would call for pink and of course too, a specific hairstyle for all dancers.
The locker room is as important to you as the class itself. A real studio with a real locker room, which is a space with high ceilings,wooden cubbies and huge willow baskets for lost and found. There is a kitchen in there with a huge collection of ceramic mugs, some with Russian names, some chipped and old with conservatories' names. But more importantly, the way you watch the older ballerinas. Some of them spend their whole Saturdays there, so we see them stretching on the wood floor of the locker room, arched over their books, snapping their gum and tying their shoes.
You didn't want to wear legwarmers until you saw the big girls. You beam and raise your chin when you chat with them. When we stayed to watch an advanced class upstairs, you whispered your commentary to me, "Her leg is shaking too much" and "I like her purple sweater shorts." They would rehearse the same steps to one very short piece of music. This did not tire you the way it did me. You seemed to perceive the distinction that the dancers were making with each repetition.
And when you enter your own class, you carry the same accuity to the scarf-dancing and even the goofy freeze dances. The pre-ballet studio is small, with a very old barre, but the high celilings are wonderful for when the music plays. Every dime spent on behalf of this program is cashed in with the observations you are making about what it is to be a girl, about your own body's sense of movement in space. I only look into the little window a few times, nervous to cast a spell of apprehension or self-consciousness on you. When I do look in, I hope my eyes tell you how proud I am, how utterly tickled I am, and what a clear joy it is to be your mother. When you file out with your classmates for water break, you come out up on toes, arms raised in a circle, it is everything I can do NOT to give a standing ovation.
What a gift you are, an inspiring person even at this young age. You dig into your life so well, you scale every obstacle. Right now, you have Dad's powers of observation, his love of biking, his passion for the poor. You have my sense of deep conviction, my love of language, and my addiction to Sharpies. Just like with the ballet, all these attributes might change or they might weave right in there and stay on. Who knows but my goodness, Clara, it's marvelous now.
posted by Maria at
7:55 PM
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