Jumping off the bus into my arms, a head of bouncy curls tucked under her black, hooded, quilted jacket, my seven and a 1/2 year old was a sight for sore eyes. Her tiny, pink-lipped smile and shy glance took me right back to her sweet, baby-cake toddler years. She is a little beauty and as sweet and kind as Little Mary Sunshine or some other such character. Imagine my surprise then, when I reminded her that her Dance Fusion class, a combination of modern, ballet, lyrical dance for the young set, was in about 30 minutes and that we'd need to have a quick snack before heading over. (We generally walk over as it's very close to home.)
*Falling to the floor, crinkling up her nose, grabbing her head in a "Woe/Whoa is me" grip*
"But Mommy, I don't want to go to Dance Fusion! You are not being fair! [insert neighbor child's name] gets to have play dates all the time! I NEVER get to have play dates. (Though she'd had two that weekend) All I ever have to do is go to Dance Fusion. I just don't want to go. Is this the last week?"
"It's not. Next week is the last week. When that class is over, you do not have to commit to dance again, but we started this and we are going to finish it. You are a wonderful dancer. Why don't you want to go?"
"You forced me! You know I don't like dancing in front of other people--"
"What other people? The kids in the class? You have been going all term. This is crazy. You have to go."
"I don't want to! It's not fair. You force me to do things. I don't want you to ever force me ever again to do anything."
"I did not force you, small girl, and I will not make you go in the future, but we are going to honor our commitments and be respectful of our teacher and our responsibilities. Please get your dance clothes on so we can go. It's getting late."
"I won't."
"I'll say this much. If you do not go to class, you are not having a play date. You will be reading for your reading log for the full hour."
"One hour of reading?"
"Yes. And you will take French next term if you do not want to dance."
"OK."
This went on longer than I care to admit and so I won't. Let's just say that there is a lot more "dialogue" to include here. I texted my friend part of the way through the argument and asked/demanded what I should do. I have a tough time with this stuff. The girls are so young and I know how kids are fickle and cannot always commit to things they set out to do, but we did sign up for a certain number of weeks. And frankly, she is so talented and such a beautiful dancer I feel like I must guide and direct her towards her "calling." And then I stop myself. Am I forcing her?
I regret having been allowed to quit piano when I was nine years old, though I do recall just how miserable I made my mother as I begged and pleaded and then just gave up practicing altogether. Sitting in front of the keys with Rick, a kind, bearded music teacher from the local music school, I'd plink away having just looked at the music moments before his arrival. I could not see how these scales and little exercises were going to take me to a place where I could actually play and possibly create beautiful music. The same went for the flute (which I at least played into high school but then gave up when other interests called), the guitar, Girl Scouts, Spanish lessons, gymnastics (Though that I'd quit because my dance teacher told me it was giving me too muscular a butt. Little did she realize that I was a black girl. It was gonna be that way ANYWAY.) Now as an adult, I wish I could play the piano or the guitar, that I could tie more than the square knot and didn't get less than a thrill from camping.
Kids start and quit activities all the time. We have them signed up for so many things so early to give them exposure and get them out of our hair for an hour or so. When Lily wanted to quit soccer, a sport where she showed promise, I made her finish the season but allowed her to stop. In our town, the teams were co-ed until the kids turned eight and though Lily loved the drills and the practices, the games were often wild free-for-all's, and they did not appeal to her at all. I also didn't care for the Saturday morning early wake up, but if she'd loved it, I would have continued. With dance, an art that carried me through my young life, that gave me joy and discipline and passion and commitment and love, I am struggling to let her let go. I have been reminded by so many that stopping does not mean quitting. Perhaps she will come back to it. And maybe she won't. Maybe, for all her talent it just does not inspire her in the way it did me. Maybe (with a wink) I do not get to determine her "calling" after all.
But what's a mother to do when confronted with the shift, the change in the middle of a session? When disinterest creeps in after the fees are paid and the place in class has been saved? I made her go. I let her cry it out, kick things, beg. I let her wear her jeans to class instead of dance clothes and I gave her a snack to take with her. She danced. She enjoyed it and she will, sadly, not sign up for the next term. It is here where I must let go. Let her be her own girl and develop interests and dreams and desires that I cannot control. That evening, we ordered dinner from the local pizza place that she loves and we sat, the three of us (little sister too) and talked about discipline and passion and commitment. I explained why it is important for me that they find something to offer them guidance and discipline and teaches respect and responsibility. That the arts and other activities bring joy and meaning to life. I told them I would allow them to participate in choosing whatever it is, but that I would not allow them to give up on everything.
There are so many more choices and options now than I when I was a little girl. I danced from four until my teen years and continued to come back to it in my twenties, thirties, and now forties. I speak the language, know the vocabulary, and feel a comfort when I return. All the choices now mean so many starts and often not enough time to let the love for something germinate and grow. It is that I fear most. That they try everything and give in to nothing. I want to help lead them to their passion without forcing them to do as I have done or what I'd like them to.
The little one still loves her ballet class and is desperate to start Dance Fusion when she is old enough. She loves art and wants to learn how to ride her bike. Lily is older and has already tried so many things. We will next look for an instrument and possibly tap and everyone will have to take French. It's with a firm hand and an unwavering voice that I insist when they want to give up without a real attempt at understanding. I introduce them to the arts by taking them to performances and concerts and galleries; sports by taking them to games and pick up games; life's surprises by waking them up for the sunset, showing them cool experiments, planting, baking, cooking, living. It's alright if they flip and freak and act a fool while they sort out their feelings as long as they get back on that horse and finish the race. Finish what they started.
So yes, you have to go to class. I hope you will be better for it.
(c) Copyright 2014. Repatriated Mama: Back to the Suburban Grind.
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