Dancing Queen

article by MEREDITH MCKINNIE

Show me a stage, and you’ll get a performance. Growing up, I never feared the spotlight. Mom put me in dance lessons as a child, and I relished those classes. I loved the gracefulness of ballet, the smack of a tap shoe hitting the floor in cadence, the collective shimmy in a jazz routine. Hip hop classes weren’t standard in my early years, but later, on dance teams, I hit that beat as hard as I could. My body craved movement, and music provided a path. In recitals, I could be found on the end of the front row, as height reigned supreme. I remember envying the tall girls who dominated the center – seemed silly to me, as most of them hadn’t even grown into their limbs yet and exhibited little to no control. Nonetheless, the stage and the spotlight called my name, and since then, my coordination has served me well, whether at night clubs in my youth or at the wedding receptions that defined my twenties. I could dance. I may not be able to sing or be a star, but I could hear and respond to a beat. And nothing felt better than moving on a dance floor.

Now 40 years old and the mother of two young daughters, I want the same exposure for my girls. I want them to do what makes them feel good, what makes them feel alive. It is my responsibility to expose them to as much as possible so they can discover their passions. I enrolled Wilder at a well-known local studio in September and gathered the necessary attire. However you slice it, dance lessons are not cheap. We collected ballet shoes, tap shoes, jazz shoes, leotards, and tights. I resisted my daughter’s request for a “dance bag,” as her old backpack would work just fine. Husband or I dropped her off each Wednesday afternoon and collected her 1.5 hours later. I enjoyed reviewing first through fifth positions with her, as those fundamentals stayed with me for decades. She would often leap across our large bedroom. I resisted the urge to correct her form, as she did the rookie move of up and over as opposed to lifting her legs in tandem. I tried to remain focused on the movement. My daughter was leaping because it felt good. When she asked for instruction, then I could interject. Until then, I would not hinder her joy of feeling her body in motion. In December I took her to see the Twin City ballet. Halfway through the first act, she turned to me, having been mesmerized for the last hour, and insisted, “Mom, you get me on that stage.” My dancer’s heart just exploded.

In January, dance lessons turned to recital prep. The theme for this production was Aladdin, and Wilder was ecstatic. She still danced around our bedroom, balking at Alexa “Next!” when she didn’t appreciate the musical selections. She jumped onto the club chair, dove off of the side table, making each piece of furniture a stage prop. And I loved it. Her little sister and I would watch patiently and enthusiastically clap upon completion. I watched Wilder’s face as she took every performance seriously. I saw myself gliding across that floor. She would lock herself in her room to practice her routines, as they were top secret. No one got a hint of choreography before the big show. I loved that she felt like she had a secret, a big moment to reveal to the rest of us. She guarded it instinctively.

When showtime rolled around in late May, Wilder started a countdown, asking daily how many days were left. Husband and I attended the rehearsal, mesmerized by the level of production that went into a child’s recital. Bravo, Studio! Wilder’s first performance wasn’t until right before intermission, and I nervously anticipated her gliding on stage. I knew she loved to dance, had seen her romp across our hardwood floor, but would she take to choreography? Would she know the dances? Would she freeze under the spotlight? I felt nervous for her and even more nervous for myself. Wilder emerged second from the side curtain, holding her billowing skirt and tilting her chin up as she delicately moved across the floor. I relaxed immediately. I recognized a dancer in my little girl. She knew the head tilt, the relaxed yet firm arm placement, the grace the discipline required. She danced hard but knew never to disclose the hard so as not to distract from the elegance of the sport. And most importantly, her eyes twinkled – she found her place on that stage and took pride in giving it her all.

During the performance and after, friends would say “She is sooo good.” And of course, it felt great to hear, but on reflection, what I cherish most is that I got to witness my daughter feel good, about her body and about herself. She was in full control and she leaned into the responsibility. We dubbed her the Dancing Queen, and she still beams every time she hears it.