The Rock School

Two years ago we took our oldest daughter to try-outs. We were in a room with eighty or so little girls who had numbers pinned to their t-shirts. They stood or sat in rows while a woman went around and one by one checked the arch of the girl’s feet, the flexibility of their hips, and at no time did they ask the little girls to dance.

There is a documentary in theaters now called First Position where a number of young ballet dancers are followed. Two of the kids in the movie go to the Rock School. So does my daughter.

The school is not for dance class, it is intended to train professional dancers. I have no real intention for my girl to make this a career, nor does she, but she is only eight, neither of us know what she wants. But she likes to dance, she likes it there, and I suppose there are worse ways to spend your days.

I know nothing about ballet. Classes are closed to parents except for twice per term during parent observation week. Lobbying teachers regarding a child’s progress is strictly forbidden. I have yet to inquire if they offer ignorant parent instruction. Perhaps they can teach me to recognize ballet positions and I will teach them how to run the veer.

She loves it and I love that. I sat in the balcony with the other “scholarship” parents, we are easily recognizable.

I in a very real way I had hoped she would play little league football. she is the one who used to come to the gym with me to watch guys spar.  But this is parenting, not coaching. When she finds a door she wants to go through it is my job to make sure it opens.