The plot of the story was that there was a little girl who could not go outside and play with the other children because her legs weren't strong enough. Her doctor recommended that she take up ballet to strengthen her legs. The little girl was shy and unsure at first, but she grew stronger and better with each practice.
She became so dedicated that her father installed a ballet bar and mirror in their house so that she could practice at home. She graduated to toe shoes and then got a part in the school's production. Her mother made her a beautiful tutu and she performed elegantly.
The illustrations in the book are stunning. I can still remember them so clearly. She had a tiny black bag to carry her leotard and tights. She practiced the positions and plies.
Of course, I wanted to become a ballerina.
My mother enrolled me in ballet when I was (I believe) 5. I was so excited to have my very own black leotard and pink tights (although I didn't have the tiny black bag). Somehow at the tender age of 5, I was already behind. I walked into the classroom, very shy, and knew immediately that the other girls knew what to do.
At first the teacher was patient, showing me the positions, and how to plie.
But then, she became concerned.
"Tuck in your derriere, like this" and she would show me how to tilt my pelvis forward, lessening the curve of my back, to minimize my behind.
I would look at myself in the mirror and try to mimic her behavior.
"No, no, no, like this" and she would show me again.
I would plie, and she would come to me again "Derriere in, dear, derriere in."
I worked so hard to tuck in my rumpus, that I ended up assuming some very strange positions. I would plie, but with my knees bending forward instead of the sides, in order to "tuck in" on my way down.
[Aside: it should probably be noted that part of the problem was likely the fact that I was wearing thick little girl undies beneath my tights and leotard, which would always bunch up and give me an overall lumpy appearance. Other girls went au naturale under their tights, but I was too shy to get that undressed in the dressing room.]
After about 3 lessons, I finally realized the problem. It was not that I wasn't forming the positions or movements properly. It wasn't even that I wasn't graceful. I'm sure I was on par with the other girls. The problem, in the teacher's eye, was that I didn't have a ballerina's body. I had too bountiful of a behind.
I asked my mother to let me stop taking ballet.
I look at MP's perfect little toddler body, and I worry. I worry that someone is going to make her feel badly for the knees that she inherited from me, that I inherited from my mother, who inherited them from hers. I worry that some snooty ballet teacher will make her feel, for the rest of her life, that she could never dance. I worry that my own worries about my own body will rub off onto her. I worry that instead of focusing on the important things in life - being loving, kind, having a servant's heart, being loyal, strong, healthy, and working hard - she'll worry about the size of her jeans.
One summer when Dad and I were dating, I was obsessed with trying to lose weight. I was so unhappy with my body. For breakfast, I had a bowl of cereal. For lunch, I had deli meat (yup, just meat). I would eat a normal dinner, but only after going for a run.
Of course, I was perfectly normal (and more importantly, healthy) without losing any weight. And I weigh around 40 pounds more now than I did then. And yet, I was so unhappy, and worried all the time.
I don't know how to prevent MP from doing that to herself. I don't know how to teach her to balance being healthy, strong and active with loving and accepting her body.
But I think part of the way is in that book. The reason the girl in the story started dancing was not to get thinner, be more graceful, or even to wear beautiful costumes. The reason she started dancing was to make her legs stronger.
MP, you can take ballet if you want to if you remember that ballerinas are not only beautiful and graceful - they're strong, too.
