Several of my friends have daughters or granddaughters who attend ballet classes and are winning awards at various dance competitions throughout New England.
I really admire (and envy) those young, flexible, graceful girls. I like to think that years ago I could have been one of them, and the truth is, I actually did try. But my efforts were met with limited success.
Extremely limited.
Back in my younger days, from age four to 15, I studied ballet at the Evelyn Howard Dance Studio, which was located on the second floor of the Manchester YMCA. In retrospect, I think poor Miss Howard must have had the patience of a saint to put up with me.
At my very first ballet recital, I was a butterfly. I basically had to continuously flap my arms, which were draped in a thin, glittery cloth to resemble wings, and flutter around a girl named Susan, who was a rose. Susan was dainty and petite, while I was, well…jumbo petite...always big for my age. Susan looked so cute in her little rosebud hat and rose-petal dress, neither of which could have stretched far enough to fit over any of my body parts, I felt very un-butterfly-like next to her.
Back in my younger days, from age four to 15, I studied ballet at the Evelyn Howard Dance Studio, which was located on the second floor of the Manchester YMCA. In retrospect, I think poor Miss Howard must have had the patience of a saint to put up with me.
At my very first ballet recital, I was a butterfly. I basically had to continuously flap my arms, which were draped in a thin, glittery cloth to resemble wings, and flutter around a girl named Susan, who was a rose. Susan was dainty and petite, while I was, well…jumbo petite...always big for my age. Susan looked so cute in her little rosebud hat and rose-petal dress, neither of which could have stretched far enough to fit over any of my body parts, I felt very un-butterfly-like next to her.
I think I'd probably have felt a lot more comfortable if I'd have been able to portray something less delicate than a butterfly...like a killer bee.
But I still continued to show up for class each week, desperately trying to become more light on my feet. Miss Howard also was determined to correct my habit of standing with my knees together, which made me look knock-kneed. But no matter how much she tried, my knees always seemed to have a mind of their own, as if they had magnets attached to them.
But I still continued to show up for class each week, desperately trying to become more light on my feet. Miss Howard also was determined to correct my habit of standing with my knees together, which made me look knock-kneed. But no matter how much she tried, my knees always seemed to have a mind of their own, as if they had magnets attached to them.
Many recitals followed, which my poor parents faithfully suffered through. I was, among other things, a firefly with battery-operated light-up wings; a pixie dressed in all green satin; a Hawaiian dancer in glow-in-the-dark hot pink; and a cinnamon stick in pale pink and red stripes, which, considering my figure at the time, made me look more like a barber's pole. 
But what I really longed to be and dreamed about was becoming a dancer in a major ballet like Swan Lake. For one thing, the advanced ballerinas’ class, unlike my class, had a guy in it...Michael.
But what I really longed to be and dreamed about was becoming a dancer in a major ballet like Swan Lake. For one thing, the advanced ballerinas’ class, unlike my class, had a guy in it...Michael.
Michael had long dark hair and was very fit. He also was the first guy I'd ever seen wearing tights. And I gasped out loud the first time I watched him effortlessly lift one of the ballerinas over his head as if she were made of feathers. At that moment, my goal became to eventually become one of those ballerinas. I totally ignored the fact I was about as graceful as a buffalo and poor Michael probably would need hernia surgery after he tried to lift me. But I was determined.
Fortunately, my parents always had encouraged me to follow my dreams...so they generously continued paying for my ballet lessons.
When I turned 13, I finally gathered the courage to ask Miss Howard if I could join the advanced group so I could be included in the studio's annual performance of Swan Lake.
When I turned 13, I finally gathered the courage to ask Miss Howard if I could join the advanced group so I could be included in the studio's annual performance of Swan Lake.
“But the ballerinas in that class are all en pointe," she said.
My blank expression told her I had no clue what en pointe meant.
“They wear toe shoes," she explained, "not ballet slippers like you do.”
“I'm sure I can dance in toe shoes!” I said, even though I’d never even tried one on.
So Miss Howard agreed to let me give the toe shoes a shot. I soon discovered the human body wasn’t built with feet that were meant to walk on the tips of their toes. Even worse, I had a few extra pounds to carry around on my stubby toes, which didn’t help.
“You’re not a real ballerina until you’ve had a blister on every toe,” Miss Howard told me, smiling knowingly when I complained about the pain. I was beginning to think that nothing, not even being lifted by Michael’s strong arms, was worth the torture of having to limp for the rest of my life.
As I teetered around in my toe shoes, with my legs bowed out so I could keep my balance, I looked more like a bullfrog about to leap at a fly than a Swan-Lake-worthy ballet dancer.
“I'm sure I can dance in toe shoes!” I said, even though I’d never even tried one on.
So Miss Howard agreed to let me give the toe shoes a shot. I soon discovered the human body wasn’t built with feet that were meant to walk on the tips of their toes. Even worse, I had a few extra pounds to carry around on my stubby toes, which didn’t help.
“You’re not a real ballerina until you’ve had a blister on every toe,” Miss Howard told me, smiling knowingly when I complained about the pain. I was beginning to think that nothing, not even being lifted by Michael’s strong arms, was worth the torture of having to limp for the rest of my life.
As I teetered around in my toe shoes, with my legs bowed out so I could keep my balance, I looked more like a bullfrog about to leap at a fly than a Swan-Lake-worthy ballet dancer.
But on the bright side, at least my knees weren't knocking.
Miss Howard finally made a suggestion that saved my feet (and probably my dignity). “Why don’t I let you be in a ballet, but you can wear ballet slippers instead of toe shoes?” she said. “As long as they are white, like the other girls’ shoes, when you’re onstage, no one will know the difference.”
I was so relieved and grateful, I felt like kissing her feet. But seeing she was a longtime toe dancer, I figured her toes probably still were covered in blisters.
Ballet classes were easier after that, mainly because I didn’t have to worry about keeping my balance or hiding my pain, and could concentrate on attempting to perfect the dance steps.
Soon, I actually became a member of the corps de ballet, which was a group of about 25 ballerinas…and Michael.
I even had the chance to talk to Michael after every class, which I enjoyed. He told me that his buddies teased him endlessly about studying ballet, but he was the one who had the last laugh. After all, he said, how many other teenage guys could say they were surrounded by 25 girls wearing nothing but leotards every week?
He had a point.
Unfortunately, I never did get to perform in Swan Lake, but I came close. I performed as a sylph (a mythological fairy-like being) in the ballet, “Les Sylphides,” with the corps de ballet, and wore a flowing white dress and a crown of flowers.
Michael, who played The Poet, was one of the lead dancers in the ballet, and my cousin Carla was selected as the prima ballerina who performed alone with him in the pas de deux in the spotlight. They moved so gracefully together, I watched in awe...and swallowed a severe case of jealousy.
Of course, my cousin couldn’t have hit 100 lbs. on the scale even if she were soaking wet and wearing a necklace made of rocks, but that was besides the point. I think even at birth I weighed more than she did when she performed in that ballet. And she was so effortlessly lifted by Michael, you'd think she'd been pumped full of helium beforehand.
After my stage debut with the corps de ballet, I gave up on my dream and switched to tap dancing and flamenco dancing. Clomping around and stomping my feet seemed more up my alley than trying to be a graceful swan.
There have been many times over the years, however, when I've thought about studying ballet again and maybe fulfilling my dream of finally performing in Swan Lake. But then I'd hear my back creaking like a rusty old hinge and decide not to risk ending up in traction.
Whenever I'd mention to my husband my desire to someday still pursue that dream, he always tried to be encouraging and would tell me to go for it. But then one day, when I was in my 40s and still hadn't done a thing to make my dream come true, I think he finally got fed up with hearing me talk about it.
I was so relieved and grateful, I felt like kissing her feet. But seeing she was a longtime toe dancer, I figured her toes probably still were covered in blisters.
Ballet classes were easier after that, mainly because I didn’t have to worry about keeping my balance or hiding my pain, and could concentrate on attempting to perfect the dance steps.
Soon, I actually became a member of the corps de ballet, which was a group of about 25 ballerinas…and Michael.
I even had the chance to talk to Michael after every class, which I enjoyed. He told me that his buddies teased him endlessly about studying ballet, but he was the one who had the last laugh. After all, he said, how many other teenage guys could say they were surrounded by 25 girls wearing nothing but leotards every week?
He had a point.
Unfortunately, I never did get to perform in Swan Lake, but I came close. I performed as a sylph (a mythological fairy-like being) in the ballet, “Les Sylphides,” with the corps de ballet, and wore a flowing white dress and a crown of flowers.
Michael, who played The Poet, was one of the lead dancers in the ballet, and my cousin Carla was selected as the prima ballerina who performed alone with him in the pas de deux in the spotlight. They moved so gracefully together, I watched in awe...and swallowed a severe case of jealousy.
Of course, my cousin couldn’t have hit 100 lbs. on the scale even if she were soaking wet and wearing a necklace made of rocks, but that was besides the point. I think even at birth I weighed more than she did when she performed in that ballet. And she was so effortlessly lifted by Michael, you'd think she'd been pumped full of helium beforehand.
After my stage debut with the corps de ballet, I gave up on my dream and switched to tap dancing and flamenco dancing. Clomping around and stomping my feet seemed more up my alley than trying to be a graceful swan.
There have been many times over the years, however, when I've thought about studying ballet again and maybe fulfilling my dream of finally performing in Swan Lake. But then I'd hear my back creaking like a rusty old hinge and decide not to risk ending up in traction.
Whenever I'd mention to my husband my desire to someday still pursue that dream, he always tried to be encouraging and would tell me to go for it. But then one day, when I was in my 40s and still hadn't done a thing to make my dream come true, I think he finally got fed up with hearing me talk about it.
“Well, if being in Swan Lake is still on your bucket list,” he said, obviously struggling to still sound encouraging, “then stop procrastinating and give it your best shot. But I think maybe you should consider setting your sights a little lower and strive to be something other than a swan in the ballet, something less challenging. I mean, aren't there any other creatures in the lake besides swans? You know, like maybe a frog...or a mosquito?”
I took the hint and never mentioned it again.
I took the hint and never mentioned it again.
# # #
FOOTNOTE: Back in the 1970s, my husband started a new civil-service job and he would come home each night and tell me about all of the new and interesting people he was working with. One guy, who was a highly respected Vietnam veteran and a decorated war hero, particularly impressed him.
"He's so down-to-earth, with a great sense of humor," my husband said. "And he's SO helpful while I'm trying to learn everything at work, I feel as if I've known him for years. I can't wait for you to meet him and his wife!"
That meeting turned out to be a real surprise for me...because the war hero was Michael!
Talk about a small world...
To this day, even though my late husband has been gone for nearly 14 years, and Michael and his wife have moved away, I still keep in touch with them twice a month with our marathon phone conversations, and they always make me laugh.
But I have to confess, there still are times when I'm tempted to ask Michael if he would do me a big favor and lift me, the failed swan...just once! I think it might qualify me to finally cross it off my bucket list, don't you? 😂
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