Shoved to Them
I sat tonight peeking through the curtains of my nine-year-old’s ballet class. Parents are only allowed inside twice during the year, and tonight was not one of those evenings. Most nights I sit quietly and read, enjoying a moment to myself. The past few weeks have been different. Her arthritis has returned and her left knee is once again in flare, and so now I watch her. I’m not sure what exactly it is that I think I will see….but I anticipate it at every moment.
She loves ballet. She counts the days until it is time for her to dance, and as she leaves the studio sighs that it will be a full week before she returns. My girl whose stiff and aching knee causes a pronounced limp everywhere else in her life is all grace and light on the dance floor.
She limps toward her spot on the floor and waits for the music to begin. As it does, she slowly presses her heel downward until her foot is flat and her leg is straight. Only the tensing of her jaw betrays the effort it takes for her merely to stand there. She breathes out slowly and lifts to her toes. Her face is a mask of calm, but her eyes shine with determination. She has made up her mind tonight that she will dance, and she does.
She twirls, skips, and leaps with the rest of her class. She never falls behind or asks to rest. She reaches down occasionally to rub her aching joints, but when her teacher offers her a break she firmly shakes her head. She doesn’t want it to be easy. She has told me so herself. She wants only for it to be normal and even challenging.
She is only nine and by sheer force of will she has commanded her aching body to become something more than it by rights should be. She is not content with merely being able to move. She has made up her mind, and she will dance.
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