starting small - day 32: little ballerinas

June 27th, 2017 - This is the thirty-second day of a 40 day blogging challenge: some pictures and words each day. Come back tomorrow to see more posts!  

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This summer I have the opportunity to teach the littlest of ballet dancers. Ages two and three make up the majority. These ages are not my forte when it comes to teaching. But it may be the best thing that could have happened to me this summer. 

Fresh eyes and blonde curls gather around me at the beginning of each class. We sit on our dots and count to five, flapping butterfly wings and coloring imaginary glue. We talk about going to Disneyland and our favorite color. They tell me the names of their best friends and what theme they want their birthday party to be when they turn four. I listen. And my heart smiles. 

I show them my point shoes and listen to their guesses of why the slippers are so 'hard.' I tell them that there is no cement in them, but wood and cardboard. Yes, just like the boxes from Amazon that the mailman brings. 

When we dance in the center, we don't stand in first position. We make pizza slices with our feet and carry big round beachballs. Ballerinas don't have thumbs, we know, so we hide them behind the rest of our fingers. I pretend to dab that imaginary glue on my toe and demonstrate tondue and passe; they do the same. I have foreshadowings of future ballerinas who can't do a tondue without first putting glue on the tips of their toes. 

When they line up on the side of the room, they hold hands with their neighbor, just in case she's "feeling a little shy." Sometimes they run out to help me demonstrate their next dance. Oftentimes they remind me of what they learned last class and ask if they'll be doing that today. When you're three, a ballet walk is a real challenge, one that requires a tongue sticking out the side of one's mouth. Skipping calls for courage and a hand to hold. A chasse brings giggles. 

The scarf box is often reveled towards the end of class. All the "pink ones" are immediately snatched up. The slower dancers often have to suffice themselves with yellow and green. We hop to the music and twirl. Sometimes we pretend to fall asleep when the music is quiet. The end of the song is finished with many flourishes and smiles. And even sometimes, an oddly twisted and inverted curtsy. 

We clap at the end of class. "Thank you for dancing with me," they say. A line, and hands on the head. They compare stickers before they run out the door to doting parents and younger siblings.

These are the ballerinas of the future. These are little girls who will once remember their early dancing days with the same fondness that I have in my heart. They may not go on to dance ballet or even dance at all, but they will forever remember their little pink leotards, their leather slippers, and their weekly sticker. I could not ask for a greater gift.