Most of my big, life-changing epiphanies seem to come to me as I’m lying in bed at night, just about to drift off. I’ll be snuggled up warm and cozy next to my husband, my brain in that fuzzily incoherent state that means sleep is just around the corner, when someone suddenly turns a light on inside my head. Everything that was dark and muffled is abruptly in sharp focus, and my thoughts are clear and distinct. Sleep is no longer an option. I have learned over the years that it’s useless to try to ignore whatever thought or idea has burst into my head, because it demands attention at the forefront of my mind until I have thought about it enough to remember it in the morning.
Last night’s epiphany can’t really be classified as life-changing, but it certainly wasn’t something I was expecting. Moments away from the peaceful release of unconsciousness, the brain-light came on and I realized that it was important to find another ballet school for the girls to go to. Wide awake now and utterly confused, I sat up in bed to try and figure out where the heck that came from.
Until last night, I had been very pleased with the dance school we’ve been going to. Their teacher is energetic and talented, and she keeps the kids interested and excited about what is happening in class. Both Babs and Zibbit can barely wait until Ballet Day, and ask me repeatedly during the week if it’s time to go to dance class yet. So why was it suddenly so clear to me that this is not the right place for them to be? Searching the darkness of my room for some kind of answer, a conversation I had with Babs replayed itself in my mind. We had been talking about how her ballet class was going, and trying to remember all the steps to the routine she was learning. As we talked our way through the routine (star-star-hip-hip-pivot-pivot-knee!) Babs mentioned that her teacher goes too fast. At the time I thought that she was just confused about all the different steps, and I resolved to practice with her a few times before the next class so she could feel more confident. But thinking about it again, I realized that her teacher does go too fast. And with twelve girls in the forty-five minute class, there doesn’t seem to be enough time for each child to fully grasp each technique before they are moving on to whatever comes next.
Then something else occurred to me: they’ve been spending so much time on the routine for December’s recital that they’re not learning much actual ballet. I understand that it is important to the teacher for the kids to stand up there on the stage come December, all lined up in their adorable little tutus and dancing in synch, but you know what? I don’t care about that. It’s not important to me to spend forty bucks on a sequined tutu and watch my daughter dance in front of an audience for two minutes. What I care about is whether or not all of the classes leading up to that moment on stage have been enjoyable for her. What is important is if she has really learned something that interests her, rather than come to class week after week and having the steps pounded into her head for a routine she will never perform again. I am not paying for Babs to perform for me, I am paying for her to enjoy an experience she can build on and grow from.
This is a familiar situation for our family- last year, we made the decision to pull Babs out of the highly lauded Christian preschool she was attending and join a co-op school instead. The teacher at the Christian school was extremely intelligent with decades of teaching experience. The room was bright and colorful with rows of perfect art projects lining the walls. It was exactly like the preschool I had envisioned her going to, and I had enrolled her there with enthusiasm. As it turned out, Babs hated it. She was terrified of her teacher, whose technique for dealing with crying children was to look them in the eyes while firmly telling them to “stop crying”. Every moment in class was structured and supervised with no sympathy for my sweet little girl who just wanted some time with the box of ponies in the animal corner. When she began bringing home immaculate crafts with her name on them that she had obviously never touched, we decided that this was not the place for our family. I couldn’t delude myself that these perfect crafts proved that she was learning so much about spiders and squirrels and autumn leaves when she was clearly not enjoying her time there. Her new school is the polar opposite; tons of free time for exploration and discovery, class projects done with excited participation from all of the children, and a darling teacher who is tuned in to each of the kids’ individual needs and strives to make them all feel safe and loved. Babs may not be filling the fridge at home with perfect preschool art, but she enjoys the experience of school. To me, that is so much more important.
So today I’ll begin my search for a new ballet school. Maybe I can find a small studio somewhere that doesn’t care about the end result so much, as long as their students are enjoying the experience of learning how to dance. It is becoming glaringly apparent to me that in this society that advocates the appearance of having it all, it’s going to be difficult to raise my children to enjoy the journey, embracing life’s ups and downs without anticipating what they’re going to “get” for it when it’s all over.
