Story to Scrapbook :: A birthday many years ago
This photo makes me smile the sort of smile that exists only inside your head because your face cannot completely capture it. I’m not sure exactly when it was taken—it was on my birthday, but which one? I am thinking maybe 8? But that isn’t particularly what matters about the picture. The card I’m opening matters—it was a card with a present and I can see the pewter ballet shoes that I remember so very clearly as a prized possession for many years. The furniture in the background tells me I was opening presents at my grandparents’ house, which was something we did not uncommonly, as it was easier for everyone to get there (and it probably meant far less stress since it would mean no need to travel with the birthday cake). But it’s the hair and the clothes that say the most, perhaps: the uniform of a black leotard which I wore so many nights for so many years. It must have been a warm October to still be wearing short sleeves that late in the year. I know without seeing that I was also wearing the palest of pink tights, in that course weave that no one seems to wear anymore but was quite the norm then. Too young for a ballet skirt, but most definitely hair in a bun, held in place with so many zig-zagged hair pins, and the odd comment here and there about how the natural parting in my hair was not the correct style for ballet. It took jars of gel, black eyebrow pencils and much tugging at my ponytail to get it just right for performances.
My dance teacher inspired without ever being frightening, which is a more complex thing that one might imagine, and I certainly had no idea at that age. She was never the type who scolded mistakes, but somehow managed to get the best from a demeanour that was polite and graceful even when we were too slouchy or too slow or taking time steps out of time. I can’t place any other element of life where there was absolutely no nonsense ever and yet things were always so enjoyable. (This may be because I have grown to creatively forget the pain of pointe shoes and minor injuries.) When I discovered recently that Miss Nina is still teaching dance to this day, it somehow didn’t surprise me. I can fully imagine that she would never plan to live a day without a pair of tights and Capezio heels.
People who have never danced have asked me why it was so important to me, especially when it would appear on the surface that I was far more the academic, but academia never gave me discipline. Academia was always about the short-term: one homework assignment at a time, usually done at the last minute, studying for test just an hour before class. Dancing never worked like that: every class built on the last. Missing one day was horrific in my mind, as it seemed so impossible to catch up. It took effort to get ready, to get to class, no falling out of bed and catching the school bus barely out of pajamas. And there was always a little bit of a feeling that if you slipped up or stood less than straight, you would destroy things for everyone—no one wanted to be the one person who stepped on the left when everyone else stepped on the right. Those are the things that taught me the definition of hard work, and perhaps it is that unique form of discipline that has given me tremendous focus on things I love partnered with a complete lack of patience with things I cannot abide.
I say it was important to me; I mean it is. But that is a story for another day.
xlovesx
Supplies: Bazzill cardstock, Cosmo Cricket patterned papers, a completely ancient pink paper from Making Memories, Vera Thickers by American Crafts, Heidi Grace chipboard, Heather Bailey rub-ons, Rhonna Farrer transparency, Amy Butler die cuts.
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