What It Is Not All About

It is so frustrating, as a parent, to see your child not value something at which they have remarkable talent.

Now, call me biased, but my daughter, Sadie, has some lovely skill at ballet. It is a joy to watch her dance. That is, it is a joy when you are able to watch her dance. Too often, in her ballet class, she is chattering, crying, staring off in the distance, or doing something else disruptive. Her dance teacher, Miss Kelly, puts up with it, I think, because she knows that Sadie can pull it together on recital day and be a credit to her class, rather than the disgrace that she is for most of the nine months preceding.

I cannot understand her attitude. I loved ballet when I was little, and I think I would have practiced until my feet bled, had I shown even half of Sadie's talent. But, Sadie whines and complains about dance all the time. Interestingly, though, she never takes me up on my offers that she quit ballet, because she lives for that spotlight in June. But, oh how she makes us miserable until the blessed recital day!

So, after her latest triumph of a recital where she danced bee-yew-tifully, her dad asked her why she misbehaves so often in class. She said that it was boring to have to wait for the others to learn the steps, and she hated some of the games that they played.

"What kind of games?" Jason, who rarely sees the classes, asked.

"Mostly the hokey-pokey," Sadie replied, scrunching up her face into an expression of disdain. "I hate it! It makes me furious with rage!"

"The hokey-pokey?" Jason reiterated in bewilderment.

"Yes!" Sadie roared.

Well, Miss Kelly does pull that one out quite a bit. I can see how it could get tiring.

The next day, Jason prodded her further on this particular bugaboo. "What don't you like about the hokey-pokey?" he pressed, "It's a lot of fun."

"It's so long and boring," Sadie asserted. "You put your right hand in, your right hand out, put it in, shake it about, blah, blah, blah. Why not put your whole self in right away, shake yourself about, do the hokey-pokey, and be done with it?"

Well, she never got a coherent reply out of us, as we were too busy snorting back gales of laughter. I'll never look at the hokey-pokey the same way again.

Sadie's moved up to the next level in ballet, and I hope she'll be mature enough this upcoming fall to participate with better will in class. Maybe in the new level, the hokey-pokey will not rear its superfluous head quite as often. We can only hope.