Syracuse Parent and CNY Family

Brittney Fiorini Jerred is an award-winning columnist and the editor of "Syracuse Parent." You can leave comments below. She may also be reached at editor@syracuseparent.net

Dance class brings out the provider in me
Posted on Sat, November 3rd, 2007
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I recently signed my daughter up for dance class. I knew she would love it. She’s always singing and dancing around the house with a certain seriousness and I thought it’d be nice for her to do just that with a few other girls her own age.

So I looked up my old teacher and left a message. She called back right away and said we could come that same night at 5 p.m. So, I found some play ballet shoes in Mary’s room, prayed that they fit and shoved them on. I discovered they would indeed fit for at least another two weeks—enough time for me to find where they sold real ones. We put on some sweat pants and a nice long-sleeved T-shirt so she would be comfortable and we were ready to go.

On the way out the door, I didn’t have to beg or bribe my child to leave the house or think of some clever game to get her in her car seat. The “hurry up” roles were reversed: we were going somewhere exclusively for her. She was watching the clock and making sure I wasn’t late this night.

We entered the local CYO and found about 15 girls with their parents getting tap shoes on in the waiting area. Everyone was talking at once and excited to see their dance friends. They were also all decked out in tutus and tights. Most had leotards and even festive Halloween-sequined dance socks. I knew Mary noticed this. She’s just started to dress herself and make her preferences known. Most of the time, it’s a dress—a summer one that’s unseasonable. I usually let this go, as long as we put the more seasonable clothes on underneath. It’s turned out to be a great compromise.

On the first night of dance, we dressed for comfort, not so much style. (I didn’t remember the younger ones like to wear the whole get up, even if it’s not recital night.) When she saw the other girls, she wanted to dress up too. I told her we’d wear a tutu next week. She seemed fine with that. I drew Mary away from the mesmerizing outfits and giggles long enough to quickly raid the box of borrowed tap shoes. We found some that fit and stole laces from another pair in the box and within two minutes, the teacher, Miss Norma, came to get them.

I forgot how good Miss Norma was with children. She greeted each one warmly and remembered and said everyone’s name. She took a hand on each side of her, the other girls linked on and they all went in together.

Now I know they only went into a room two doors away but I was a world away. She was in a room with wall to wall mirrors, ballet bars, bright lights and arabesques. I was so happy for my daughter: she had her own dance class. I felt accomplished as a parent. I was able to find something that she could do with other kids that she already liked. It made me feel like a provider, which I guess I’ve always been since she’s been around but this felt different because I wasn’t providing the stimulation or nurturing. I was providing the means to both, while I waited patiently in my own world of parents.

After the girls (and one boy) went in, I started to recognize some of the mothers. One was a girl I went to high school with. Another was someone I’d met the previous week at the library and another was a woman who I’d met at a local corn maze. We all said hello and I got to read a book for an entire half hour. I could get used to dance class.

As I sat there appreciating the uninterrupted time with a certain sense of satisfaction, I realized that this was the beginning of a new, permanent phase—one where I become less frequently needed and more of a reverent, patient mom who waits to be needed. I pray I can handle these steps with grace.

Kaitlyn poses for her babysitter who took this image of her playing outside.