Thread by @quinncy

A small story:

I loved ballet.

I loved the precision, the quiet, the discipline, the chasing after a Platonic ideal of a line, a movement, the feeling of flight, of speed. I loved the wardrobe and oh, did I love pointe shoes.

Ballet tolerated me.

At its heart dance is a sport * and, like all sports, there are certain people more physically-suited to the sport than other. I wasn't designed for ballet.

* At its heart, ballet began as a way for French aristocrats to look at lady-legs and pick out their new mistress.

Even though I was small, I was the wrong kind of small; the perfect ballet dancer should have a smaller head, very long limbs and very bendy feet.

If spiders could pirouette, Balanchine would have married three of them.

I was too muscular; teachers kept asking me if I had ever considered modern dance which is ballet teacher for "Why aren't you more spider?"

Eventually, the unrequited love faded - because I'm neurotic but not that kind of neurotic - and I quit ballet.

16 years later, I gave birth to someone whose pediatrician noted her long limbs at her one-week checkup. She continued to grow, to lengthen; I began to see glimpses of arachnid. I smiled in quiet pleasure and started playing Chopin at night, so as to prepare her for barre work.

If you had asked me when I signed her up for her first class, "Quinn, are you already planning your outfit for her first night with NYCB?" I would have passed a lie-detector test; I didn't want her to be a dancer for a living.

It's a brutal, tenuous life, that of a dancer. All the instability of a freelance writer but imagine if I might suddenly break a finger writing and have to retire. I knew dancers who had to have hip-replacements before 40. I didn't want that for her.

I just wanted someone with some of my genes to accomplish something I could not. My child with the vast reserves of energy and the four inches of leg sticking out of her pants looked like a good bet to undo those modern-dance suggestions.

She liked the first level of class well enough, I class I believe was called "Baby Ballet" but I called "Skipping With Snacks." They had a recital. All children in recitals are adorable but let's be honest, it's a tricky blue and she OWNS it.

She expertly skipped her long legs.

She progressed to the next class where there was less skipping, more fiddly bits where your arms and legs were put in very specific places. I thrilled to seeing my daughter have her spiderlimbs bent towards the diabolical fifth position.

Kid's feelings were more nuanced.

"She forgot to give us goldfish crackers," she reported after class. Choosing to ignore the warning tone I sang out, "Oh, don't worry about that. we can get something to eat now."

I was about to say, "...and talk about ballet," but I caught a glimpse of her tiny, lowered brow.

I quickly learned the cost ballet class was:

Cost of Actual Class + Bag Of Goldfish Crackers For Later + Sighing.

Dear God, the sighing.

Kid came to indicating her displeasure with a situation with a slightly amplified exhale early, often, some might say relentlessly.

Ballet lent itself naturally to the sigh. She'd sigh when I'd ask her to get ready for class, she'd sigh when I told her "Goldfish crackers are for afterwards, she'd sigh in class when reminded to point her toes, the glass viewing window showing me her tiny thoracic implosion.

Doggedly, I kept taking her because damn it, ballet was good for her. Posture! Discipline! A future ability to sew ribbons on your toe shoes during Algebra! Besides, not everything is an immediate love affair; it took me several tries before I got the Negroni.

(I did not use the Negroni example with my six year-old child)

In pursuit of a sigh-free life, I bought us tickets to THE NUTCRACKER. "Who doesn't like shiny things?" I reasoned, "And then she'll see what I see in it." I already had a few ballet-related Christmas ideas lined up.

You know who goes to see THE NUTCRACKER?

Women shepherding girls with their hair pulled back into buns.

Everyone was excited.

No one slouched.

I looked down at Kid to share this moment and found her covertly chewing on the fancy program I had gotten.

"What," I asked, "Are you doing?"

"I dunno," she said.

She then asked, "Why are we here again?"

I mutely pointed to the name on the front of the program, right under her teeth marks.

"Oh."

I chose to believe this was an excited completely neutral tone.

THE NUTCRACKER was, well, THE NUTCRACKER.

Shiny, pink, candycandycandy, dancing mice, Victorian Christmas, weirdshit.

Kid seemed engaged, applauded, laughed at the British Panto bits. The first act ended, we applauded, the lights came up and she turned to me.

"Can I have a burrito for dinner?"

"May," I corrected automatically, "have a burrito for d-I don't know. Maybe. That isn't until the show is over."

"The show is over," she said, indicating everyone leaving their seats.

"Honey," I said, "That's the first act. We have another act."

"Oh, god," she said, crumpling.

She then wailed, "THERE'S JUST SO MUCH BALLET."

Yeah, we left.

Over a burrito we determined she thought ballet was stupid, slow, baffling. Any defense I made sounded as if I was doing PR for a cult.

Me: The slowness is the point!

Kid: That sounds terrible.

Me: The music is beautiful.

Kid: You never play it in the car.

Me: Later, you get to stand on your toes!

Kid: I can stand on my toes right now.

Then she did, while continuing to eat her burrito, something I daresay Gelsey Kirkland never achieved.

I gave up because she was right. The parts I had wanted for me were stupid and the parts that I wanted for her she'd get other ways. I think about that moment often when someone tells me "We're a lacrosse family" or "My kids dive." Maybe they all want that equally.

Maybe one just really wants to leave at the end of the first act.

And now, THE AD! If you like these Small Stories, can I coax you into helping to support them? I promise to commend you when you shine in a tricky color.

patreon.com/user?u=4846197

And now, the other ad!

I have a deal for you on
@librofm (libro.fm/redeem/Quinn)

My membership benefits @vromans! Yours could benefit your local indie bookstore! Here are 2 bookseller picks with "Dance" in the title!

libro.fm/searchq=Dance&…