Tiny Dancer

My oldest grandaughter is taking ballet lessons. She's wanted to for a while now. She started to want that once she was enrolled in gymnastics which she also wanted. Her parents had paid for a block of lessons, and so they encouraged her to finish out the prepaid lessons in gymnastics before she moved on to something new.

But by the time she finished gymnastics, we were all waiting for her baby sister to arrive. I discovered instructional videos geared to children. Those videos taught basic positions and postures. I loved watching her watching them with an intentness. She would study the videos, study her feet, correct it, and at the end, do a short dance to music with the instructor. 

I left mom with the link. If she found herself needing a short break for baby care, this would provide a good distraction for her oldest. 

Then there were two, and while a baby can be taken to a gym and not cause disruption, a crying baby at a dance studio might be a problem. Her father was involved in a massive project for his work and was traveling more than usual, and so ballet was delayed once again. She played soccer for a year, an activity that allowed for the squalling of a baby sister if required. 

This year, finally, at five, she has gotten her wish. She is finally doing ballet, and she loves it. I was talking to her on the phone and she told me that that very day, she had her ballet picture taken. She told me that she wore make-up. REAL makeup. Stuff on her eyes, stuff on her cheeks, and LIPSTICK!

I expressed great shock that all this had happened since I saw her last. Her reply was great. Matter-of-factly, she replied, "Yes. I'm not your little girl anymore."

Her mother sent me her picture and it took my breath away.

Sometimes when little girls have their pictures taken for these things, they look like little girls playing dress up. This little girl did not. Her mother was reluctant to have her wearing make-up and had applied it with a light hand. Her long blond hair was pinned up and she stood there in her tutu, arms raised above her head.

Maybe it was the expression on her face, the sweet confidence of an assured child. I don't know. It's hard to explain, but the camera caught it: she did not look like a child playing dressup. She looked like a ballerina playing that she was a child once again. 

It was shocking to me. I wish that I could explain it better, but that picture will be treasured.