My eyes were drawn to the flow of the tulle skirts and the tutu as it bounced daintily with the dancer's movement as she tip-toed across the stage, and the way the light hit the subtle sparkles. I was taken back to a time when I wanted to be a ballerina; a memory residing somewhere in the recess of my mind that I only recalled as I watched the beauty unfold before me in the form of dance.
I must have wanted to be a ballerina as this picture of me with a gift for my tenth birthday attests to.
|I still have this doll|
|Not the best split because I HATE my kneecap touching the floor|
|I'm third from the left, next to Miss Laura Jean.|
I also have a memory of my grandmother taking me to a dance class somewhere close to Buffalo. It was during grade 7 and I was at the time living with my aunt and her family in Akron. My grandmother would pick me up and drop me back off and the best memory I have is not of the dance classes but of the ride home when my grandmother would put the car in neutral as we headed back to my aunt's house down a hilly road; a scary and thrilling ride both!
While I watched the Nevada Ballet dancers, as well as the little girls in the audience with eyes big with wonder, I wish I could have asked my grandmother if she had hoped I would be up on a stage like that someday. Did I disappoint her when I abandoned my dancing dreams? I realize now the effort she put into my dancing; the time and expense, and I am pretty sure I never thanked her for it. I wish I could do that now, but she has been gone since 1998. If there was any way I could, I would tell her that she was with me while I remembered wanting to be a ballerina.
Perhaps she would still be proud of the person I have turned out to be, even if I am not dressed in a tutu.