Everything I Learned About Life, I Learned in Dance Class (13 page)

Oddly enough, I don’t have that many pushy parents. I always have to be the pushiest stage mother with my students, more so than any parent. In fact, I am Queen Stage Mom. In New York some of my friends call me Mama Rose, after infamous Gypsy Rose Lee and her mother! I wear that label proudly. I’m going to get the best for my kids, make the most out of it, get them every opportunity, and knock down the doors until those kids are famous.

In the past I’ve had stage mothers at our studio try to outsmart me. Moms take their little lasses behind my back to study elsewhere or to learn a new trick at another studio. They don’t understand that I’m going to find out about it and it’s going to backfire on them, or that the kids can get hurt by being taught something they aren’t ready to do yet, which is why I didn’t teach it to them myself. I think these parents are trying to impress me and they go about it in the wrong way instead of through their kids’ due diligence and hard work and being exemplary students.

That would impress me more. I’ll give opportunities to the kids if the opportunities are right for them. I would never send your kid to an audition that she can’t handle. If it’s an ethnic call, and your spitfire has red hair and freckles, she’s not going to the audition. It’s a waste of everyone’s time and money. If they are seeking advanced dancers who tumble both right and left, I’ve done my research, I know the choreographer, and I’m sure your kids can’t handle it. Trust this is not because I don’t like your kids; it’s because they just aren’t right for this opportunity. At least not right now.

In the gym, you can observe one gymnast training every day to learn a back tuck, which is a rotating somersault in the air traveling backward. She’s spotted by her coach but just can’t seem to get it—she keeps working hard and is still not setting high enough or is landing too short, falling to her knees. Then all of a sudden the day comes when she completes a successful back tuck. She runs down the mat, she preps, her round off is clean, the back handspring powerful, and, boom, a back tuck. She has successfully completed her first unassisted backward tumbling pass! She goes on to do it ten more times. It’s instant, and she can do it again and again once she does it for the first time. For gymnasts, it seems like that day just comes, and one day they’re just able to complete the stunt after trying for so long.

Ballet doesn’t happen that way. Tap doesn’t happen that way. Contemporary doesn’t happen that way. Soccer doesn’t happen that way. I think parents want their kid to wake up one day and be instantly good. It’s the gratification of “My kid can do that.” Most physical, technical refinement takes a lot longer. I feel like the slow-and-steady turtle wins the race when it comes to dance. Patience is definitely a virtue.

Many times I see boys take up dance later in life around their teenage years because they’re tall and strong and can lift the girls. These boys don’t learn the foundations of dance before they are thrown into senior company numbers. It’s kind of like putting the tween in calculus before he has time to learn his multiplication tables. He walks into a studio, learns to lift girls, learns those big jumps and impressive turns that men usually do with years of extensive training, but he doesn’t know the basics. This is a great example of patience as a virtue because these boys need to start at the beginning. They need to audit miniclasses and learn how to cross the floor properly and learn the basics of movement before they can attempt that solo. Instead, they are going to end up with injuries and poor technique. They’re going to end up looking stupid in auditions when the casting person asks them to perform something specific and they have no idea what she’s talking about. Learning proper terminology is key. Think beyond the world of competition. Do you have the knowledge to be the dance captain, the assistant choreographer, the dance supervisor?

Dear Abby:

I am having a really hard time getting my eight-year-old daughter ready for dance practice. She drags her feet and says she doesn’t want to go, yet when we get there, she has so much fun and always says how much she loves to dance. How can I make the transition from home to dance class easier? Is there a certain age when you just give up trying?

A lot of kids go through change: one year they love dance and the next, not so much. You say she drags her feet and doesn’t want to go, but once she’s in the room she loves it. Then don’t go from home to dance class, go from school straight to dance class. Maybe her friends on the bus home are talking about watching TV or what game they’re going to play that day or another activity they go to, whereas your daughter has to go to dance class. Or maybe someone at dance is giving her a hard time and she’s not sharing the information with you. I would stick to your guns and make her go, because she’s going to grow out of this phase and into another one.

As for the question of age, I don’t think you should base your decision on a certain age, but instead on a certain level of talent. Does the kid really have talent? Did she invest years of sweat equity and sore muscles for her craft? Have you invested a lot of money and time as well? Have you been to enough competitions? Have you gone to real auditions? Have you taken her to L.A. and New York? Have you really done the utmost as the parent to see this through?

My advice? Don’t let her quit. You don’t know how many kids I bump into at the mall whose names I don’t even remember, but they run up behind me and say, “Do you remember me?” and the next thing they ask me is “Why did my mother let me quit?” I think you need to really look at each case individually.

Abby

ABBY’S BFF

by Colleen Johnson

Abby and I were destined to become best friends. After all, when we were babies, our parents would place us in the same playpen during their late-sixties soirees, progressive dinner parties, and Super Bowl celebrations. We actually attended separate elementary schools, but were able to reconnect in high school in, of all things, a cooking class, which we failed (not an easy thing to do). Abby made high school fun and it seemed we never stopped laughing. Come to think of it, maybe that had something to do with the entire cooking class failing. It seemed we were perfect for each other. She always thought I was funnier than I actually am, and I always found her incredibly entertaining. I’m glad she is finally getting paid for her antics.

As you can imagine, Abby lives at the dance studio. Every Friday night, I would go to the studio and pick her up to go to the movies. She always wanted to drive. I think it was because she preferred her Cadillac to my Ford Escort. Of course when I was with Abby I always had a job. On Friday nights, it was to sweep the bottom of her purse to try to salvage any crumbs of broken blush or powder that she could use to freshen her makeup as she was driving to Monroeville. Most people go to the movies and enjoy nice buttery popcorn as a snack. Not us. We would always drop by the local Italian restaurant in the mall and pick up the meatball platter, which we snuck into the theater with us. There were certainly quite a few turned heads once the movie began and we dug into our feast.

Shopping was of course a big part of our lives, and the midnight sales at Christmas were one of our favorite times. While we were searching the lot for a place to park, I was the designated spot saver. If Abby saw an open space anywhere, she would throw me out of the car so I could run to the empty, coveted space and pose until she could navigate her big boat in. Keep in mind, we grew up in Pittsburgh, and standing outside in an open parking lot in a polar vortex is not the most fun I’ve had. Abby loved to wear a full-length mink coat. (What teenager wears a full-length mink coat?!) We referred to Abby’s coat as “The Beast.” One night while shopping, Ab found herself too warm in her coat. Well, my job that night was to hold The Beast for the duration of our trip. I had no intention of carrying this thing through the stores, so I left it lying on the floor of the lingerie department. It was not until we were looking at shoes that Abby noticed that The Beast had gone missing. We just started laughing hysterically and found The Beast right where I had left it. I guess nobody else wanted to carry it around either.

I moved to Florida a few years after graduation. Abby would travel down to visit quite frequently. Every time she came, she would pack enough things for a month. On one particular visit, in addition to her giant, overweight luggage, she brought along a large duffel bag. Inside the duffel was a full week’s supply of Nutrisystem products. This was the new diet that Abby was on, and she said that’s all she was eating during the entire week. Well, the perfectly portioned, prepackaged, freeze-dried, diet delights remained untouched inside the duffel bag. When it came to the last day of her trip, the bulging duffle had never been unzipped (no surprise really). Abby did not want to take it all the way back to the ’Burgh with her, so on her last day, we decided to invite a few people over to my parents’ house for a Nutrisystem smorgasbord. These prepared meals are designed to be eaten one meal per sitting. I will never forget Abby saying, “Hey, these things aren’t too bad if you eat five or six of them.”

Abby’s dominant personality has been a constant during her entire life. She is always loud, and she’s used to conducting class and being the center of attention because most other people bore her. We often referred to her as Hurricane Abby when she arrived in Florida. You can prepare all you want, but there’s no telling what the damage will be by the time she leaves. Don’t worry about southern hospitality with Abby. As long as you have a bag of M&Ms and real Coca-Cola, she’s a happy camper. Even though we now live a thousand miles away from each other, we’ve still remained buddies. Now I get to see her every week—Tuesday nights at nine on Lifetime.

Colleen Johnson
grew up with Abby in Penn Hills and remains one of her closest friends to this day.

PLAY NICE

By nice, I mean say please and thank you. Help out your friend or your neighbor. If someone forgets her tights and you have several new pairs, let her use an extra pair. If you would like her to pay you back for the tights, tell her she can pay you next week or she can pay you at the studio. And don’t talk about her behind her back for the next ten years because she never paid you back—maybe she forgot. Let others borrow your things, because someday your luggage is going to get lost and you’re going to need something.

Dancers have manners. They are considerate of other dancers around them. It’s called spatial awareness. There is a certain etiquette that goes unspoken. A dancer wouldn’t go into the front or middle of a class as a guest. If my kids went to New York City to Broadway Dance Center and walked in to take a class, they wouldn’t go and stand in the front row, because those spots are for students who take the class every single day. Be respectful of the regular attendees, be conscious of your work space, and don’t dance too big, bumping into people. This shows you’re an amateur, not an advanced pupil. If you accidentally collide with someone, say, “I’m sorry,” or “Excuse me.” Work your way to the front of the class because you’re that talented and you deserve to be there, but don’t ever expect to start there. As the class progresses, perhaps the instructor will notice you and signal you to move forward.

Now when you’re at an audition or master class, that’s an entirely different situation. If you want to be noticed—and you do—then you can’t be in the back drinking out of a water bottle. You have to get up front and impress them with how great you really are. You don’t do this by pushing your way to the front. When you walk into a ballroom and there’s a platform set up where the teacher’s going to stand, you want to get yourself as close as possible. Put your dance bag and coat underneath a chair on the side of the room, and take your spot on the floor. If you aren’t sure what the style is going to be like or how difficult the choreography will be to pick up, then you want to start in the middle. When you become more comfortable and confident, then work your way to the front.

When you’re onstage and performing, there will be times when you have to wait in the wings, so use your manners backstage too. While you’re waiting in the wings, stay calm and quiet. Jumping up and down could distract the person who is performing onstage. While waiting your turn to dance, you should always be alert and ready to make an entrance. Treat other people the way you want to be treated, and remember that if you’re not nice, you may be seeing that person again and he or she might be the one hiring you for the job—or not.

I never knew this until many years later, but one of my blond bombshells was onstage in a major competition, dancing her heart out. As she approached the risky penché on relevé, another one of my students, her teammate and so-called friend, was doing everything she could to distract her focus and throw her off balance. It’s all about the win, isn’t it?

This goes both for children and for their parents. How is your child going to learn to be respectful of her peers if you trash-talk your fellow moms behind their backs? I’m amazed at how childishly some of my dance moms behave. I can honestly state that I never heard my mother say more than “damn” or “hell,” and my dad was a “goddamn it” and “Jesus Christ” kind of guy. Probably just to tick off my devout Catholic mother. Ladies, your daughters are taking their cues from you! Is this what you want them to do? Is this how you want them to act when they’re adults? My tongue is sharp, my quips are nasty, and my critiques are stinging, but I rarely swear and never at a child. The way these moms throw the F word around, you’d think they were longshoremen who’d been out to sea for months on end. (No offense to the fishing industry.)

Dear Abby:

My daughter loves to dance, but she clearly has two left feet. She never wins during individual competitions, and at times I feel she is bringing her team down because she frequently forgets her choreography. Should I pull her out even though she loves to dance?

A child who loves to dance should be dancing, but maybe not competing. Isn’t there a way she can go to a studio that does performances and puts on shows in the neighborhood or senior citizen homes and stuff like that where no one is judging, so she won’t risk the loss for the rest of the team, and, most important, it doesn’t hurt her self-esteem? Then she can just do it, have fun, and go out there and perform in an annual recital. That’s what this experience does for your daughter.