So You Think I Can Dance?

So You Think You Can Dance is the best entertainment there is. Our whole family is highly invested. Yes, the costumes are revealing, but so were those NBA short-shorts. And how about Wimbledon? Huh?
During the last show, Freestone whispered in my ear, "Mom, I think you can dance." Then he snuggled up next to me. I have a fan! I admit, he's never seen me dance, but he thinks I can!

Every year in the spring recital, all the teachers at the school where I teach do a dance. This trial by fire is the bane of my existence because (don't tell Freestone) I can't dance! So there are a few recital stories I won't be telling Freestone:

2005: The teachers were dressed as nuns, with long, black habits. Perfect, because nobody could see my legs. During the recital, I was on fire. (Read: I stayed on the right count.) For the final pose, I whipped my arm into position, smacking a fellow dancer in the face. I think the audience heard her go, "Ooomph!" as she doubled over.

2006: Rehearsals were on Thursday nights with an insanely creative and optimistic choreographer. Every Friday, I literally could not bend my legs. For days, I had to take shallow breaths because my ribs hurt. By the time the next rehearsal rolled around, I had barely recovered from the last one enough to get from a standing position to a sitting position. This torture went on for weeks. Knowing I'd never be able to pull off the dance, I came up with a foolproof excuse: I had to go to China to adopt a baby. Luckily for everyone, I sat that dance out.

2007: I stood in the back and didn't hit anyone, and nobody got hurt.

2008: Tonight was our last rehearsal, and I've had to come to a decision. I can either move my arms with everyone else, or I can move my legs with everyone else. This dance is hilarious. It's the cantina scene music from Star Wars, so theoretically, we're in a bar in outer space. There's one part where we all run around like crazy, waving our arms and pretending to shout because the table and the lamp are dancing. During a run-through tonight, I was doing that part of the dance, running around the studio, waving my arms, just putting everything I had into it, feeling like Twyla Tharp. I looked around and all the other dancers were doing a different part of the dance, a small, controlled box step. I was 16 counts ahead, and worlds away. It was, in a way, representative of my whole experience in dance. (Some of you are about to click on "comment" and say that I wasn't that bad. I know who you are, and that's why I love you!)

Despite my shortcomings, I love to teach the technique and discipline of ballet to girls who I know will grow to become better than I ever was. Dance is just a beautiful art form. It defies words. What I've gained from being involved in it is an appreciation for beauty, and an understanding of discipline. I want that for my girls. Ballet class is not necessarily "fun." There are no treats, no rewards. Elements of it are the same every class time, for years. What I try to instill in my students is that you push yourself to be better this time than last time, you come to class when you're tired, you miss birthday parties to be at class, you point your toes when I'm not watching, and you succeed according to the effort you put in. If it's easy, you're not doing enough. There are not many places these days where kids get that kind of work ethic, and it's one of the few really important things you can learn in life. That's the reason I'm so commited to waving my arms and running around like crazy in front of lots of people. I just hope I do it on the right counts.