(Part two of Traveling - from May 2)
After I changed into my gear (looking, no doubt, like someone who had become lost on his way to the gym) I presented myself to Kay, and took to her immediately. Kindly tactful, she suggested I visit a nearby store that sold practice clothes; I would, she said, find something much more appropriate, and comfortable than my (ahem) present outfit. Her surprise was genuine when I told her my age, thinking me a lot younger. The age revelation seemed to catch her off guard, and whatever she had been about to say she let it go, and instead posed a question; one I had sort of been expecting might be asked. Wording it not to appear unkind, she asked if I was absolutely sure I wanted to study Ballet, suggesting that maybe Tap would be more suitable, my being a late starter to the art of Terpsichore, and all. (Her question conveyed to me her need to let me know that I would do a lot less damage to myself putting tap cleats on my shoes than I would trying to do the splits.). I assured her I had thought it out before I came, and had made the decision to at least try. (A few years later I confessed to her that my being there was the outcome of a dare. She laughed, and said Karma will out!). Dear Kay, she didn't turn me away, in fact she said she was pleased, and that if I was still of the same mind after my first class she would be happy to welcome me into the school. She also admitted, her face blossoming into one her lovely smiles, that as it was very difficult getting fellows interested in ballet, she wasn't about to abandon a guy who was willing to give it a go. Kay’s comment not only produced a grateful smile, but stopped briefly the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and my sense of guilt for the deception. But the butterflies returned an instant later, when the moment I had been dreading arrived!
Clapping her hands sharply Kay called the class to order--all girls except for Ray, and now me--quickly introduced the new student, me, then everyone moved to the barre, found themselves a spot, and waited for the down beat to begin the first exercise. I was positioned behind Ray, and told to follow him as best as I could. A moment later I was bending my knees up and down in the obligatory pliés which, I soon learned, would begin every class, warm up, and rehearsal. I was red faced, both with embarrassment and effort, but strangely exhilarated. Whatever it was that tipped the scales of my life and directed me to this moment I will never know, but as I pliéd awkwardly up and down I had the sense that I was shedding my old self, being reinvented, rewired, and glowed inwardly with the realization that I had at last become the person I had no idea I’d been looking for.
When I picture how I must have looked as I stood with my hand on that rail, a shaking, eager, ill equipped neophyte in clod hopper sneakers, baggy gym shorts, and an even a more baggy tee shirt, I cringe. If I could have seen what I looked like, what I was doing, really pictured it, I’d probably have run for the nearest exit to become a tie salesman at the Bay. The truth is, even if I had pictured it I would not have run, and why? Because I had fallen in love, and love as they say, is blind.
Oh, but it was tough! How I struggled and struggled to make my poor skinny frame move in a way that would show I had grasped some of the steps I was being taught, and that I was able to execute a movement close to what was expected. I was completely won over by the wonder of dance. But, my God was I out of my depth. I had chosen a profession for which I was so ill equipped it was sad. It cost me a great deal of pain and misery to achieve what one day would ensure me a living. Still, I did it, I became--this still gets me--a professional, card carrying dancer, theatrical, whatever. Sure it was painful, and sometimes cruelly so, but believe me, I have no regrets. To simply say it was worth it, says so little. For me during those years, to dance was to live.
Clapping her hands sharply Kay called the class to order--all girls except for Ray, and now me--quickly introduced the new student, me, then everyone moved to the barre, found themselves a spot, and waited for the down beat to begin the first exercise. I was positioned behind Ray, and told to follow him as best as I could. A moment later I was bending my knees up and down in the obligatory pliés which, I soon learned, would begin every class, warm up, and rehearsal. I was red faced, both with embarrassment and effort, but strangely exhilarated. Whatever it was that tipped the scales of my life and directed me to this moment I will never know, but as I pliéd awkwardly up and down I had the sense that I was shedding my old self, being reinvented, rewired, and glowed inwardly with the realization that I had at last become the person I had no idea I’d been looking for.
When I picture how I must have looked as I stood with my hand on that rail, a shaking, eager, ill equipped neophyte in clod hopper sneakers, baggy gym shorts, and an even a more baggy tee shirt, I cringe. If I could have seen what I looked like, what I was doing, really pictured it, I’d probably have run for the nearest exit to become a tie salesman at the Bay. The truth is, even if I had pictured it I would not have run, and why? Because I had fallen in love, and love as they say, is blind.
Oh, but it was tough! How I struggled and struggled to make my poor skinny frame move in a way that would show I had grasped some of the steps I was being taught, and that I was able to execute a movement close to what was expected. I was completely won over by the wonder of dance. But, my God was I out of my depth. I had chosen a profession for which I was so ill equipped it was sad. It cost me a great deal of pain and misery to achieve what one day would ensure me a living. Still, I did it, I became--this still gets me--a professional, card carrying dancer, theatrical, whatever. Sure it was painful, and sometimes cruelly so, but believe me, I have no regrets. To simply say it was worth it, says so little. For me during those years, to dance was to live.
