At the age of 15, I found myself surrounded by a sea of tutus, leotards, magic scarves and ballet slippers; not as as a ballerina, but as a ballet teacher. Little girls ages three to nine screamed, “Miss. Lauren,” Saturday mornings from 9:00 until 1:00. Each 9:00 class started off with the thundering of three-year old feet, which sounded like a herd of brutish football players, but they were actually in a race to see who could sit in my lap first. I loved those moments. The fact that these little girls were in a race for my affection really made me feel appreciated and loved. Their hilarious stories about school and their friends during role call made getting up at 8:00 and driving about half an hour to the studio bearable.
Being a dance teacher was a fantastic job. I was able to interact with kids, whom I love. Staying fit wasn’t a problem because chasing 17 three-year olds around the room can be quite the workout. But, the thing I loved most about the job was the ability to see young potential and help foster that talent until they reached the age of ten, when they were taught by the owners of the studio. It was so hard not to pay special attention to these potential prima ballerinas, but there was one girl who reminded me so much of myself. I became enthralled with the way she glided across the floor with the grace of a professional. She would close her eyes and really “feel” the music while she was dancing. I worked with her until the turning point where her talent was handed over to the owners of the studio. I recently found out that the little girl, who is now a teenager, has been accepted to the Royal Winnipeg Ballet School, my old stomping grounds, and it makes me proud to know that I had the pleasure of helping to foster her talent.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t always rainbows and magic scarves, it was disheartening when I had to discipline the girls if they were misbehaving. Luckily, I didn’t have to reprimand them too often because they knew if they were good, we’d play a game toward the end of the class. Another not so fun aspect of the job was having to clean up the mess of a little girl who didn’t make it to the washroom. There was also the issue of dealing with parents who didn’t understand why their child wasn’t doing grande jetes and pirouettes across the room in their creative movement class. It’s because like anything, you have to start from the beginning and learn the basics to be able to handle the more advanced moves.
Above all, the little girls that I worked with along the way taught me so much about myself. They taught me that patience is most definitely a virtue and I’m still working on that. It takes a lot of patience to get those 17 three-year olds to remember a two-minute choreographed dance for their yearend recital. They taught me to laugh at myself and loosen up when on the dance floor. For so long I was caught up in the serious world of competitive dance and having bruised legs from teachers twisting my thighs so I would turn them out more. They reminded me that I did all this for the love of dance, which is what I now have tattooed on my neck to remember my days as a dancer and a dance teacher – the days I’ll treasure forever.
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