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Boy Dancer

Indeed there are more shades of pink than I ever knew, it dawns on me – a woman with three sons in a dance studio. A rainbow of pink ribbons decorates the five to seven year old heads waiting for class to start – every head except for Charlie’s, my dancing son. It’s our first ballet class at the new studio, one recommended by a friend. There are more boys at this studio, she convinced me, her son being one of them. But so far, it’s a cluster of earnest little girls in pink and purple leotards and see-through wrap-around skirts. Charlie is sporting his own fair share of dancer’s bling: a long-sleeved turtleneck leotard, poppy red spandex with two rows of black sequins running diagonally across his six-year-old chest. Over the leotard, a pair of black Danskin leggings clings to the most compact, most adorable, five-year-old rump this side of the Bay; a pair of black, leather ballet shoes completes the outfit. (This outfit, all the way down to the leotard, was custom designed by Charlie). He has furthermore flattened his hair into a side part with generous amounts of water and gel, Leave It to Beaver style. Charlie lifts his feet off of the carpet into an erratic twirl. I am positioned, knees locked, in front of the classroom window, trying to steal a good look at the dance instructor, who is not visible, conducting class from the one blind corner of the room. Who will receive my dancing son? Will Charlie be cherished and understood? Could he be crushed? How hard it can be to entrust our children to strangers.

Charlie suddenly gives voice to something else I’ve been anxiously considering for the past fifteen minutes: I don’t see any boy dancers, Mama – just girls so far; he punctuates his observation with a grand jete¢. Charlie seems unbothered but my stomach tightens anyway. Yup, just girls so far, I answer, trying to mimic his nonchalant tone. But I confess: I’m worried. I want this to be a good fit – well, no – a perfect one. I want Charlie’s story to be an easier road than say, Billy Elliot’s (a reference I’ve been getting a lot of lately when people hear that Charlie is dancing).* As parents, I don’t know if we can help but sink our entire hearts into our children’s endeavors. We naturally long for them to be happy and embraced, free and fulfilled, hell — even famous. And the very idea of their suffering exposes every raw nerve that runs the distance around our parenting souls. I love it that Charlie dances. I love it because I was a dancer myself. I love the art of dance: watching bodies lift, fold and melt into music. But mostly, I love it because he loves it. A meteoric joy explodes from the center of his being when the music plays and my son’s limbs expand and stretch into space. But let’s be honest: there are plenty of people who find it odd for a boy to be enrolled in dance class. And it’s just a simple fact that most dance classes, with the exception of hip-hop, are filled with girls – especially ballet classes. I think Charlie may have summed it up best on the way to class this evening, when, with a satisfied sort of conviction he remarked: Mama, not everyone knows it’s okay for boys to dance. We just have to teach them. As a dancer, Charlie has encountered teasing from his peers. On his first day of dance class ever, a little girl ran over to her mother, screaming like Charlie was a mouse: Mommy! That boy is not supposed to be in here. This class is for girls! School kids, too, have laughed, finding it funny or weird that Charlie dances. But for the most part, with a little guidance from the adults, kids seem to adjust to the idea. Adults, too, have their various responses.

Since Charlie started dancing nearly a year ago, I confess I might be likened to…oh, say….a lioness, ready to take on any resistance Charlie receives with my protective roar. I am relieved to report that I haven’t had to exercise my roar much. Forgetting the sideways glances we get stopping off at Safeway in the red leotard, people have been pretty decent. Nice even. Outside of those who know and love Charlie, and who rejoice in the obvious blessing of his discovery, people seem to fall into several camps. First, there are those who take it upon themselves to volunteer encouraging remarks: Good for him or If he likes to dance, that’s great; or still my favorite, You know, I heard one of Barack Obama’s cabinet members is a classically trained dancer, and he’s a successful individual (after googling this random fact, I discovered there really is such a man; his name is Rahm Emanuel, aka: Rhambo). Other folks don’t utter a word, but quietly observe, their eyes following the length of Charlie’s slender, costumed body, perhaps trying to sort out what it is they think about a boy dancer in sequins. Still, there are those who prefer to maintain strict segregation of gender roles, as if there are rules; as if, as males and females, we come with separate manuals at birth that dictate the things we should and should not be doing. He didn’t enjoy soccer? they want to know, and, what about baseball?

One acquaintance, obviously uncomfortable with Charlie dancing at all, cautioned me: Well, at least make sure you never let him do ballet! They make ‘em wear those funny tights. I had to break it to this person that not only has Charlie chosen ballet, but also that those “funny tights” he’s referring to, may in fact be half the reason Charlie dances at all. He adores his dance pants! The pants are not even mandatory; but he insisted on them. I refrained from offering a description of the sequined leotard to our friend because despite my lioness ways, I am not trying to launch an attack; just trying to do as Charlie so innocently (but wisely) suggested – teach people that it’s okay for boys to dance. Even so, it’s possible I may have revealed the very tips of my lioness fangs when I gave the speech Charlie and I have rehearsed half a dozen times, which goes something like: Who dances the prince in Swan Lake or the Mouse King in The Nutcracker? Men, whose biceps so often lift the twirling ballerina (or the male dancer) in a pas de duex, are essential to ballet (pas de duex is a French term which translates: dance for two). Don’t even get me started on Mikhail Baryshnikov or George Balanchine, to whom entirely separate speeches have been devoted. There’s also the broader speech – the one about how women everywhere are firefighters and black-belts, just as men everywhere are dancers or nurses; the speech about how we love what we love…whether we’re girls or we’re boys. And how we must do what it is we love.

At last, the door opens and the previous session’s dancers flood out in a sea of pink and black, emptying the room but for two people. Throughout my life, I’ve counted certain moments as pure, twenty-four carat grace, shining for no good reason on an ordinary human being like me – with all of my miserable fretting. This time, the grace is twofold. First off, I recognize one of the adults as Carol, a woman in our church community (a woman I trust will nurture Charlie’s dancing spirit). And secondly, Miss Carol’s assistant is a poised, dancer whose impressive deltoids are bulging out of a black t-shirt with the sleeves cut off; he is – God bless him – a man! A male dancing instructor is even more fabulous than the one or two male classmates I’d been hoping for; and the ideal role model! And from the way Charlie’s enlarged brown eyes are boring into this Herculean, twenty-something powerhouse in his retro Flashdance gear, I daresay he would agree. After a brief welcome, class is ready to begin and my dancer files in with the all the rest. The door closes on Charlie and I position myself by the window again, where I can ogle at my son on the dance floor.

I hope that if I accomplish anything as a mother, it will be to unite my children with what they love, even when the way is challenged. Like any parent, I am prepared to do whatever it takes to support him on his destined path – whether he is stage bound or headed for the science lab. But how much better if the path is paved in grace.

*Billy Elliot is a movie starring a young, boy dancer; see the trailer at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoiVEyCosEE

Kitty

Last Day of Summer