The picture above represents the “before” when I stood, filled with pride, in my first (Chartreuse) tutu, in my first stage make-up, for my first ballet performance. You can tell I followed instructions about where to place my hands for this photo, and also that my hair did not cooperate for the ballerina bun. What I didn’t know is that I was mere moments from my first directing gig, too.
Our enthusiastic and gentle teacher (Meredith, I think?) led us from the high school classroom, down a ramp, and corralled us back stage in the auditorium. She lined the class of 7-year-olds up in order, in the wings and gave us a little nudge. We walked with our hands in first position to our places and the music from Swan Lake began– da, duh, dah, da/da, duh dah du –each ballerina had one phrase to arabesque and walk in a circle.
No one moved.
The first girl did not arabesque.
The second girl did not arabesque.
I looked around. I couldn’t see anything but blackness in the audience, so I tried some hand gestures to un-freeze my fellow ballerinas.
Nothing.
They did not follow my discrete direction, so I took matters into my own hands. I don’t remember this part, but reportedly I tried to move my fellow tiny dancers, literally and physically.
Which only resulted in in seven-year-olds in Chartreuse tutus shaking their heads, flummoxed, and still not moving, to Tchaikovsky.
Which then resulted in uproarious audience laughter, and a ballet of tiny sobbing dancers.
Someone ushered us off stage–either Charmain, the head of the ballet school, or Meredith. Backstage, our parents could not convince us that the audience’s laughter came from appreciation of our adorableness. We didn’t want to be adorable, we wanted to be dancers.
Fourteen years later I took a dance class at the university as part of my theater degree requirements. One day I saw Charmain in the hallway. She remembered me, and my older siblings–dancers, all of us. “Do you remember?” she asked me. She smiled widely, still laughing.
I did not become a ballerina. I did become a director. One thing remains unchanged: I still rock the messy bun.
Wonderful memory share and trigger. I remember during our 2nd grade Xmas show: the Brownies in my troop DID NOT pull their construction paper yellow smiles out of their uniform breast pocket at the precise moment of “smile smile smile!” It was up to me, you know this, Ann, to walk up to each one and pull out the smile for them.
Isn’t it funny how we don’t realize until much later that so many of our actions as children actually quite literally foreshadow who we will grow up to be? Loved this.
I adore the mistakes more than the perfect performances, but yeah, it’s kind of devastating to the dancers. I had a bright yellow tut with a DUCK on it for my first ballet recital. A DUCK. We danced to Animal Crackers and I had to push a box around on this enormous stage for some reason before skipping around it and then sitting upon it while SINGING the song! I was not a singer at age 4; I was a DANCER.
This makes me laugh and laugh. This year at A’s recital, I noticed her shooting eye daggers at someone not doing the “right” thing (since “right” is pretty open to interpretation in childhood recitals.) Next year, perhaps she will be even more forceful about it.
This reminds me of the time when I was 4, and in my first recital and I fell on my booty in front of everyone. My Mom was all, “Oh you were so cute, everyone just laughed because you were so cute!” Yeah. Right.
I love that you tried to direct them! 🙂
Ann–Mastering the messy bun is something to be proud of. Keep on rockin’ it.
My dad got all my ballerina moves on super 8 so I have no access to them. Probably just as well.
Thank goodness the hiding and paralyzed by fear have tiny dancers like you there to make a difference and show them how to do the same!
That’s our Ann. 🙂
“Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.”
That Shakespeare really knew what he was talking about, huh?
Yup, director Ann does not surprise me at all. I can totally see it. Look at you now! You wow me. All the time. xo