Move Over Baryshnikov!

If it is possible to actually burst with pride, I think I'm at that bursting point. Last night my son performed in his first ballet recital. He only began taking lessons about five months ago.

The whole event was a land mine of potential disasters. He had three complete costume changes. *Complete* costume changes -- pants, socks, shirt, jacket, shoes, hat. This is my son, who is about as indifferent to the purpose and proper wearing of clothing as any 10 year old boy on the planet. I made him pack and repack his bag of costumes and then I double-checked his packing twice. I had him make a list of every dance and every article of clothing needed for each.

Then there was the mechanics of these complex costume changes. There are only two boys in the entire ballet school, so they got their own dressing room at the auditorium -- a broom closet. A pretty dirty one at that. A broom closet that looked like it was just waiting for a little boy to drop a sock so it could be lost forever in a dusty corner.

All the other dressing rooms were full of scantily clad girls and women. "Keep your eyes down," I told him, "they're not used to having boys around so they just change in the halls." I'm sure if he were older the prospect would be intriguing, at least, but to a 10 year old, the whole thing was just terrifyingly embarrassing.

To add to his nervous state, he had to wear makeup. I'll just say one word: stoic. The loveliest ballerina in the school put it on him. Stoic, just stoic. I think he should have had a big round of applause then and there. Are you sympathizing with this poor boy yet?

After all these challenges, he almost shrugged off the fact that the whole thing was being filmed for a DVD. Whatever he did on stage would be seen forever by all the families that buy it.

The curtain went up, the little tiny ballerinas came out and did their thing, and the audience settled in for a typical ballet recital experience. Then he came on stage, serious and obviously concentrating. He looked so small, and he stood out in his boy costume among all the tutus.

Then he smiled. He actually started to smile. I started breathing, realizing I had stopped. He got into it. The audience could tell he was enjoying it. Over and over he had little solo leaps and turns in front of the girls. He kept flashing that smile and I think I was probably smiling a lot at that point too. It was wonderful. He beamed when I handed him flowers later after the show.

He loves ballet right now, but if he decides tomorrow he is done, I'll support that decision too. As the mom, it's my job to worry. I hope the world treats him the way he deserves and doesn't label him. I hope he never gives up something he loves because he feels 'different' or 'wrong' to do it. I'd be lying if I didn't say I hope he gets a scholarship someday. But most of all, I hope he keeps smiling.