When I was little, I took dance lessons. I remember an early class with jazz, ballet and tap all combined where I had to do a recital that I think terrified me (but I could be making that up - most public displays terrified me until college) and was on a truck bed in the hot sun. I remember a later ballet class where I am sure I wanted to be a prima ballerina and dance the Nutcracker.
As much as I dislike ballet now, I know I loved it as a child. As I grew, ballet became evil for me for a multitude of reasons. First was the teacher who told me I'd never be a ballerina because I didn't have the body of a dancer. I can't recall if she actually said my but was too big or if I assumed that was her meaning, but clearly since it was 30 some years ago it has impacted me greatly. Then, physical therapy school brought to my attention the unbelievable injuries ballerinas deal with and are basically expected to endure. And finally, as a Pilates instructor, I met many dancers who had all kinds of issues and injuries and continued to dance through the pain. It just made for an awful taste in my mouth.
So today I signed Peanut up for dance class. How could I not? She loves anything ballet, princess, tutu related. She twirls around the house dancing. When we saw the class she would be age appropriate for, her eyes got huge. She starts next Tuesday. Oh I hope she loves it - and never has to have the emotions I have about this. Or I hope she decides it isn't her thing early, and we are done. I think it might be harder to let my kids follow their dreams that I had and crashed, than it is to let them do something completely unknown. I always want to keep her options open and let her try out everything to discover her passions. So next week I get to sit in the lobby while she goes into class by herself. This is tough on so many levels. Here it begins!