Siobhan Goes To Ballet Class / Grainne Does A Grand Jete

      

"Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass,
It's about dancing in the rain."

                                                                                            --author unknown
                            
                                                                         

       

 When Siobhan was three years old, my mother coerced her into taking ballet lessons.  A dozen times each day, Mama would say to my precious child,  "Siobhan...you want to dance, don't you?  You want Grammy to take you to ballet class-- don't you, dear?"  After weeks of constant badgering and wheedling, little Siobhan finally said "yes". 

 Triumphantly Mama marched my little girl to the nearest Discount Dance Store for a tutus-and-tights shopping spree.  Siobhan returned wearing black leotards, pink ballet slippers, and a look of apprehension.  With a sinking feeling I knew-- Siobhan had no idea what she was in for; she didn't even know what ballet was.  My little daughter had been tricked by her own Grammy...

 

Time passed quickly; the numbered pages seemed to fly off our calendar on their own accord.  Finally the dreaded day arrived.  D-Day.  Dance Day.  Siobhan climbed wordlessly into Mama's car; grimly I followed.  The short drive across town was silent, except for Mama's occasional urgings for Siobhan to 'pay attention to your teacher' and 'try hard so you'll learn a lot'.  I gently squeezed Siobhan's hand from time to time, to show my solidarity and support.  Too soon our destination was before us--Miss Christine's House of Dance.  And what a house it was... 

  

 Now,  nothing in the world can change my Mama's mind, stop her in her tracks, or shatter her confidence better than a big house that belongs to somebody else. And Miss Christine's house was BIG.  All of a sudden, Mama's mind was filled with niggling little doubts and insecurities..."Grainne, we don't belong here.  These people have Money--just look at their house. We'll stand out like sore thumbs.  Maybe we'd better just go home."  I rolled my eyes, turned to Siobhan and gently asked "Honey, what do you want to do--go to dance class or go home?"  My wise little girl solemnly said "I'll go to dance class, Mummy, 'cause we're already here; and I'll hold Grammy's hand so she won't be a-scared."

 

  So off we went, across the drive to the basement door.  I opened the door, and we stepped inside...into a small room with very poor lighting and a lot of chattering mothers milling about.   Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of a tattered brown chair that had seen better days, or drab green carpet covered by a  roadmap of plastic runners.  (Perhaps Miss Christine's pockets were not as deep as Mama thought.)  The grand lady herself appeared and whisked Siobhan off to join the class.  The other mothers continued standing and chatting; Mama and I continued standing in silence...until Mama's curiosity got the best of her. 

Mama leaned over to me and whispered  "What is that paper that everybody seems to be reading on the bulletin board?"  I whispered back "Beats me.  It's too far away to see."  Mama frowned and said "Well, go over there and look!"  I looked across that noisy crowded floor and sighed.  It would take a lot of bobbing and weaving and squeezing through cracks to reach that bulletin board, but Mama doesn't take too kindly to the word NO.  So I looked around for the closest opening--and there it was... a lady to my left and a lady to my right, with just enough room to squeeze between them. Grimly I set my shoulders and took a big step forward. 

  

 Unfortunately, my foot got caught under the plastic runner the two ladies were standing on, and I did a perfect swan dive across the room.  Mama's nervous laughter rang out before I hit the floor, loud and long and hysterical.  I was laughing heartily myself, but mostly because Mama's dire prediction had indeed come true-- right now we WERE standing out like sore thumbs.  When she thought about it later, she would be mortified-- but for right now, it was funny and we were laughing. 

But wait...Suddenly I realized nobody else was laughing; the other mums were just open-mouthed and staring...  I grabbed Mama by the arm and dragged her outside.  Still laughing uncontrollably, we staggered back across the drive, collapsed into her car, and laughed until tears rolled down our cheeks. We laughed until it was hard to breathe and our faces hurt. When we finally calmed down, class was over and sweet Siobhan was trudging across the drive, smiling. ( Apparently ballet class wasn't so bad after all. ) As she climbed in the car, Siobhan  said, "Hi Grammy!  What did you and Mummy do while I was gone?" Still chuckling, Mama cheerfully answered, "I didn't do anything--but your Mummy taught the other mummys how to take a flying leap!"  And quite solemnly Siobhan replied "No-- not a leap, Grammy.  Miss Christine said it was a grand jete."

 

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      "When you stumble, make it part of the dance."

                                                                                                   -----Anonymous