Here's what I'm thinking of lately. Jill is a very lucky 6 year old, in that she is able to take ballet at one of the most prestigious ballets in the country. Once a week she goes to the school that conditions and teaches individuals who will go on to incredible schools specifically for dance, and will just be dancing prodigies. To reach this status will obviously take a life of dedication, which will result in being considered a "great" (in this case, specifically, a "great dancer").
Taking Jill to this ballet class made me think back to all my activities that I had done throughout life so far. Dance, gymnastics, drama, volleyball, softball, tennis, piano, flute, and who knows what else. In certain areas I always felt like I had wasted potential...I mean, tennis, for example: after never having picked up a racket, I made the Varsity team after my first time trying out. I mean, I was decent but, was stuck in position #11 on the ladder. I started thinking, 'maybe if I had taken lessons as a kid, maybe if my parents had sent me to tennis camp' etc etc, and I really truly thought that I could be great. Same with volleyball, and with softball. I've had lots of friends who had always gotten to do the travel teams, and the summer camps, and the private lessons, and I was jealous, because it seemed to me they had an unfair advantage- they took advantage of opportunities that I wasn't allowed to.
So what's my point? I think I'm the kind of person who tried a million things, and ended up always being good, but not great. I have so many random talents or abilities that I never developed fully, and it used to really really bother me. I wanted just one thing; one thing that was 'my thing'. One thing where people would classify me and say, 'wow, Rachel's great at this one thing'. My older brother and sister were very musically as well as academically gifted, and maybe it was that which made me really want to shine. Whatever the cause, I wanted to be great, and somehow, not being great felt the same as being inadequate.
Let's get to the tie-in. So I took Jill to her dance class, and saw all these cute little girls running around in matching leotards and ballet slippers and hair pulled back in perfect ballet buns, all with plain white socks (NO RUFFLES) , but there was something that was so wrong- something that was hard to pinpoint, and it was eerily bothersome. And then I realized: these little girls werent smiling, they werent laughing, the fun had kind of been removed from dance. Jill was clutching me in a sad sobbing hug because her shoes were the wrong color, and she might not be able to dance in class because of that (if you don't meet dress code, you don't get the privilege of dancing). In this class a 6-yr old will be kicked out if her hair falls out of the bun. In this class, a 6-yr old will sit out and watch for the duration if she shows up late. In this class a 6-yr-old will not be admitted back to the school next year if her foot flexibility is measured as unsatisfactory. In this class, little girls don't get to smile and laugh and have fun- they get to stand in silence while imitating painful ballet stances, and take criticisms and directions from a former professional dancer, who doesn't care about relating to kids, but rather about drilling in how to reach perfection. Because this is a prestigious ballet school, and that's what it takes to be great.
There's a video that my mom took at the park district dance class that I took when I was in Kindergarten. I'm wearing a ruffled jean skirt, with a baggy , stretched-out white t-shirt. My overgrown boy hair cut is hanging down around my ears, and slightly in my eyes, and I do an awkward spinning dance across the room, while a young woman, probably a volunteer or a back-from-college student waits on the other side of the room until I zig zag over to her.
I'm not saying that it's wrong for parents to take advantage of the opportunities presented to their kids. I'm sure that there are world-class dancers who look back and know that it was worth every second- that the sacrifices they made were worth results. And there are kids who will hate their parents for not pushing them to be great. But after this ballet experience, all I can think is that my little motley six-yr-old self twirling clumsily across a park district building room was pretty darn happy. And I didn't keep dancing, but while I did it, I loved it. And I'm pretty sure that the flowers my parents gave me after my one and only recital felt as good as the roses that the olympic gold medalists get on the podium, and I got to have that feeling of achievement and sheer joy without ever feeling the pain and sacrifice associated with becoming "great". (This seems like an appropriate time for a shout out to the parentals for doing a good job- guess you raised us right after all ;) There was a method to the madness!!)
With my GREATEST wishes,
Rachel
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