Car Talk

Remember Car Talk?  Oh, how I miss Tom and Ray.  My daughters don't even get it when I caution them, "Don't drive like your sister!"  The guys would always say at the end of the show, "Well, you've squandered another perfectly good hour listening to Car Talk."

Lately, I've been saying to my ballet students at the end of class, "Well, you've dedicated another hour of your lives to becoming beautiful dancers.  Because of your hard work, you're one hour closer to your dream."  I'm not being quite as flippant as Click and Clack, but I think it's funny to channel them, even if the 3rd graders don't pick up on it.

The message I'm trying to relate is to point out what the girls are accomplishing and what they're aiming for.  Most of them probably didn't seek out ballet on their own, and they certainly don't drive themselves there.  Whether they love it or hate it, the reason they're in my class most likely has something to do with their parents' vision.  As a teacher, I have to instill the desire to succeed as well as the awareness that their hard work is for a purpose.  Occasionally, I pull in some older dancers from the dressing room and have them demonstrate something.  Then I deliberately make a connection between my little Level Ones and the big girls.  "See?  That is what you'll be able to do when you're older, and it's because you are so dedicated.  You work so hard and you love to dance."  Give them the vision of what you want them to be.  

The second time I gave my Car Talk speech, someone pointed out, "You said that last time!"  Now, they look forward to it.  I can see their eyes brighten as we take a moment and celebrate our efforts.  Suddenly, it's not just another dance class.  It's a completed leg of our journey toward the ideal.  That is very satisfying.  I feel it, and I can see it on those little faces.  You can bet that I use this strategy with my own children, too, in everything they do.

In ballet as in life, if we don't have a clear idea of what the goal is, the work to get there can seem pointless and overwhelming.  It's nice to pause, as we wipe the sweat off our faces and gingerly stretch our tired muscles, to look back at what we were, and look forward too, knowing exactly what we want to become. 

Scott snapped this shot at the beginning of my Nutcracker rehearsal.  Sarah had just finished teaching modern and was watching.  We have fun.