Making Princesses Look Like Ballerinas

I think everyone has that one idea, the one thing they dreamed of doing to change the world. We get it when we’re young and green and invincible, but over the years it gets jaded. We lose sight of the idea because we realize we can’t pay for it, can’t juggle it, can’t manage it.

But Thursday night, I got to do my idea.

It started when I was 14. Well, I guess it started when I was 4 and began ballet. I loved it. For 16 years I practiced daily—often going more than 25 hours a week.

Then, when I was 14, I did a mission trip in the middle of Houston and fell in love with the Hispanic culture and inner city children. I love their spirit. I love that they’re a tad rough around the edges. I love them.

And for years, I dreamed of mixing the two into a ballet program for inner city kids. Ballet teaches the kind of things young girls need, I thought. It teaches posture and grace, self-respect and a healthy body image.

And it was ballet that kept me out of trouble in high school.

But like everyone else, my dream got lost in college, in journalism school and in Patch.

The reality that I had no idea how much my parents’ spent on dance clothes set in. The sobering realization that I had no idea what I was doing also hindered all my dreams. Homework, newspapers, everything was just too much.

Until a few months ago.

A young professionals club I’m in posted an announcement that said, “We need help teaching ballet at the Boys and Girls Club in Brookhaven.”

I emailed, cautiously.

They emailed back. It turns out that one of the members had already started a program and needed help. Perfect. I can help. I can be a ballerina again. I’m not as flexible or agile as I was, but I can still do it if I try.

So I went. And I fell in love. It’s like one of those things that you forget how much you cherish it. I forgot what it felt like to dance. I forgot what it meant to sit down and talk about school and clothes and—Lord help me—boys with preteen girls. They don’t want much. They just want you to listen and tell them they’re worthy.

I can do that.

And, I can do ballet.

Thursday night was their recital. I was in charge of costumes. I designed a Belle costume and had different social clubs help me make them. Still, I spent more than 100 hours of hard rhinestoning and sewing labor. It was worth it.

They’re wild and they’re rough around the edges. The quiet ballerinas of my old studio have no place here. You teach ballet steps by modifying the recent dances like the Soulja Boy and the cha-cha slide.

But for one night, they were princesses. Someone told me in the middle of my meltdown (there were a few, but hey, you try to get 39 costumes together) that I was making “Princesses look like ballerinas.”

How true.

They won’t be the next Twyla Tharp. They don’t need to be. They needed to be Belle, to be princesses worthy of grace, poise and Prince Charming.

And Thursday night, they were.