“Dance is the hidden language of the soul.” – Martha Graham
My ability to cross a room, walk down a sidewalk, or climb stairs without tipping over, bumping into a wall or tripping on air is limited. I know people do it every day, and I am healthy and without any mobility impairments other than what my friends call “random gravity,” and yet, I struggle. So it’s easy to believe that I cannot dance. Not for a lack of trying, but mostly just for safety and the safety of others around me.
Recently, I attended a couple of dance performances: one a workshop at a ballet school where a friend was performing and another a recital for a friend’s kid. Both were amazing and something I could never do, either the dancing part or the being a dance parent part.
The workshop showcased dancers on pointe (it’s not called “toe dancing,” as I learned), some international dancers, and some wee little dancers all just starting out and learning the basics. From a Balinese dance with authentic costumes to music from Broadway shows, it was quite something. Friends were in the performance, so it was nice to see their hard work in action.
The recital was on a larger scale, with more dancers and more acts, but it was still really eye-opening. The age range was similar, though, from really young beginners to adults. The variety was there as well. In the span of one show, there was hip-hop, a Swan Lake piece, and adult tap dancing. All were spectacular, and I was envious of the ability to be on a stage dancing when I needed my phone flashlight to get into my seat without being injured.
What I probably had the ability to do but never did was be a dance parent. That’s what struck me the most. Reality television makes fun of the “dance mom” trope of an over-involved mom screeching at her kids and slathering makeup and hair gel on toddlers, but it’s not like that, at least from what I saw and not from what my friends tell me.
Yes, there are a lot of costumes, and hair and makeup are a must because of stage lighting, but one mom told me that by age 12 or so (some even earlier), the dancers either do their own or help each other get ready for performing. I will add that to the list of qualities I admire in dancers – I’m barely able to throw on some lipstick and mascara, but these kids can do a perfect dance bun and contour their cheekbones.
Being a dance parent also involves a lot of time and usually a big financial commitment. Much like sports (hockey parents, you know what I’m saying), the costumes, shoes, and other gear do not come cheap. According to my research, the national average for a fitting for a dancer’s first pair of pointe shoes is about $170. Baseball bats cost upward of $400, but here’s a fun fact: You can buy a used baseball bat. There are no used pointe shoes.
It’s the same with any kind of instruction. I had a friend who hired a goalie coach for her kid in soccer, and it was pricey. Dance choreography is much the same, and then there are travel expenses, studio fees, and private lessons. As parents, though, we do what we can. We want to give our kids the experiences they enjoy. Will every kid who dances wind up on Broadway? Of course not, just like not every Little League player will play pro ball and win a World Series. They still want to try, so we should support that when possible.
We should also support the parents and family members of these young dancers. They spend hours driving, listening to their kids’ struggles and victories, and just being there for all of it: the good, the bad, and the always interesting stage moments.
It’s good to see the reality of something, but it’s rarely on the so-called “reality shows.” It’s the tears backstage, the shy wave from a toddler in a tutu when she sees that grandma is in the audience, and the joy that doesn’t come from the tap shoes and the sequins but rather from finally mastering a combination of steps across a studio floor or a stage. Go to a dance show sometime, even if you don’t know anyone in it. You won’t regret it.
Brenda Kelley Kim has lived in Marblehead for 50 years and is an author, freelance writer, and mother of three. Her column appears weekly.
