Hey! Since you all were so patient with me while I was working on this whole Project Runway thing, I thought I should make it up by releasing at least one of the new weekly features I’ve been noodling on. I thought it might be fun to share stories of all the things that make me, well, me. There are a lot of them. Some of them are funny. At least now they’re funny. So, here’s to a younger me!
When I was wee, I wanted to be a dancer. Of course, I would still kill, or at least maim, to be a dancer. However, this is about the tiny me, with the hair of an young orangutan.
Where was I? Ah yes, wee me, dancing. I was four, and my mother so kindly signed me up for ballet class. I was really fortunate going in, because I had a strong background in the arts. I would sit for hours, glued to PBS watching operas and ballet. I was well versed in the classics. I just needed the leotard to prove it, and my mother hooked me up with one. Which I imagine you figured out, as it would be tricky for a four-year-old to get herself to the store and procure said leotard on her own.
So, leotard? Check. PBS education in the arts? Check. I was ready. I was going to own this ballet class. I walked into the room, full of confidence. I looked up at the other girls in the room. As I looked from face to face, I could see the love of ballet in each pair of eyes. I knew that they were yearning to learn all the elements of classical dance.
And I was going to teach it to them.
I called them to gather around me. They obediently formed a semicircle around me. I patiently explained how things would work, and began leading them in a series of pointed toes and ballet fingers. They followed along, mimicking my movements, focusing very carefully. They were so focused, in fact, that they barely seemed to notice the teacher walk in. We continued. She called the class to line up. We continued along pointing and flexing, all my years (roughly three of them) of PBS knowledge firmly behind me. She called the class again. The flock of ballerinas continued to dance.
The teacher asked my mother to remove me from class. She thought it best that I not return until I learned to listen and follow directions.
While I might be a dancer, I’m still not a ballerina.