Dance Like the World is Watching
Comfortably close to long-held convictions, a few years ago, I would have told you that dancing is an activity reserved for the gifted. Music and rhythm have been a very important part of my life, but I couldn’t imagine that we could become a dance family? Why even a group exercise class is an opportunity for embarrassment. And after all, what life skills could be gleaned from learning to float across a stage? Ask me about horses; golf; even team sports – and I will tell you a different story.
Those feelings slowly began to change when my eldest granddaughter enrolled in classes taught by my daughter’s friend, Kelcy Mohr. Three years ago, I encountered a share of the hullabaloo, on the day of her first recital. On a rented school stage, multiple days of consecutive acts, Kelcy ran six impeccably mastered hour-long performances. This wasn’t what I had expected. Where were my notions of tutus circling on the stage with repeated toe, kick, squats? These children, ranging in age from three to eighteen, performed precision perfect choreographed routines. My imagination had never stretched as far as what I had just witnessed.
The following year, Kelcy’s Dance Studio grew yet again. An increased staff somewhat shortened the never-ending waiting list. The path made way for the recitals’ larger venue, producing nothing less, than a near Broadway quality revue. Where did all this talent come from? Though I was thrilled for my grandkids’ participation, the perfection made me secretly hope that their interest would fade according to their ability.
Last fall, my youngest granddaughter, three-year old Elyse joined Mylee in the spirit of dance. Registered in multiple classes, the delivery and pickup of children to the studio was a new way of life. With the theme of the spring recital certain, excitement developed when the costumes were ordered to arrive in early April.
Then… the world stopped. No school. No teachers. No friends. No church. No relatives. No contact. The extended spring break rolled into a complete conclusion of physical interaction for the rest of the school year. Even the calming influence of a grandparents’ presence was denied in the midst of ‘exposure fear.’ No matter how hard anyone tried to avoid it, the lockdown and isolation tore away the children’s sense of security.
Mothers cried. Teachers cried. And administrators tried to piece together a plan to deliver basic curriculum requirements in a way that no one had ever been trained for.
Megan knows I have told her more times than I can count, God sends help, you just have to keep your eyes open. It rarely comes from the direction you expect, so you must be ready to see it when it arrives. It is the fruit of the power of prayer. You kneel, pray your heart out as if the answers will come immediately and from where you assume, they will be delivered. But when we pray, God sends us out into the world, placing the very answers we look for, in the people and places we never expect.
However, in a time such as this, we are all fighting our own battles. These stay at home orders made even this simplest of advice also difficult for me to embrace. If I wasn’t allowed to help my own grandchildren, who could possibly rescue them?
The aura of hidden panic couldn’t be concealed as it bled through the phone line when I talked to Megan. She was doing all she could to prepare for online instruction in the midst of an 8, 7 and 3 year-old, experiencing age appropriate rebellions, in addition to suffering the loss of consistency. Preparation of physical and mental space was almost too much amongst the screaming of quarreling children.
The morning of the first day of computer learning, my phone lit up with a text. Not part of the school curriculum, this was a video of Elyse, dancing in front of the computer screen, laughing and waving on what appeared to be a Zoom meeting. Laughter. Yes laughter. I heard sounds of exultation coming from my daughter’s living room.
Who would have thought? Spirited joy had arrived by way of their dance instructor. All the weeks of preparation by blindsided teachers and administrators, had just got kicked to the curb. Their attempt to convey nothing but basics, had overwhelmed them so starkly, they missed the need for a child’s innocence of wonder.
With only Mylee and Elyse participating in this new Zoom dance instruction, the happiness had become audible. The attitudes of the entire household had improved, by the contagiousness of two, experiencing delight.
Following Kelcy on Facebook, I mourned her post the day she shared pics of her child-absent studio, jam-packed with the fresh shipments of boxes filled with costumes, that may or may not ever be used. Commenting with words of encouragement, I wanted her to know how special she is and to not be dismayed at uncertainty, because she had already accomplished more than she could know.
The girls finally had something to hope for. Megan told me that the recital would most likely happen, though probably during the summer months. Kelcy knew how important it was for the kids to dance, but she seemed driven by their excitement for a chance to wear those costumes.
It wouldn’t be easy. Working within strict re-opening guidelines, Kelcy’s ability to control movement of groups, her knack of special placement would extend far beyond performances on the stage to regulating the position of a rotating audience. With careful consideration to logistics, safety and her commitment to her students, she had figured out a way.
Yet, there was trouble brewing. A handful or maybe a bundle of dismayed mothers had strong opinions that this recital should be canceled. I wondered why anyone would be upset that Kelcy kept her employees working, children happy and attempted to give us some kind of normal? Nobody was forcing anyone to do anything they didn’t want to.
There were those that probably had legitimate concerns or fear regarding the virus, but I pondered how many were just reacting to the summer date interfering with vacation plans. Whatever the reasons, I saw this as an attack caused by FOMO (fear of missing out). If I can’t do it, neither should you. Unfortunately, it would be some of the children suffering under overbearing attitudes.
Kelcy pressed forward. With only two in-person rehearsals, the show would go on. Relearning routines to allow for social distancing, shortening overall show run and the elimination of transition was necessary to swap each dance group in ten-minute intervals. Consideration to exchanging representative families in and out of the amphitheater had to be calculated in sync with performances.
The greatest impression was the way she approached each challenge. Kelcy reacted like the captain of a golf team who had just been told ‘No matter what you have practiced this year, we are playing this tournament with new rules. ‘Empty you golf bag girls, you are only allowed to play with three clubs!’ This was leadership without intimidation.
I could have easily bowed out of my ‘grandmother obligations’ and waited to curl up on the couch with my girls to giggle and watch the recorded videos after the fact. But for reasons of the determination of this director, I just had to be there. Rotating with the other families to watch a total of six dances with costume changes, I observed the reason for all of this. The most valuable lesson of all, is to learn perfection blossoms in the imperfect.
Naturally, some were out of step and not quite as rehearsed as the past. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spied a little girl in the second row. Obviously one that needed to work harder than the rest, her calculated steps landed in place. Losing sight of my own granddaughter, my heart worked with her, in her every move.
When the performance ended, this little one’s smile grew in slow motion as she realized she had completed the task and finished well. The swell of pride radiated across the stage from the second row into the audience. As the contagious wave of exuberant confidence became visible, I realized what this was all about. Confidence can only be achieved through risk.
Kelcy knew the importance of acknowledging the need for these dancers to hold on to their sense of wonder and commit to the risk. They do it every year. And season after season, her students develop confidence. She herself, knew these children needed more than ever, to experience what the world wants to snuff out right now. I am grateful she took the risk.
As I thought of the mothers that pulled their children from this priceless opportunity, I questioned exactly who will have the capability to survive this unsure future? It will be the creative ones. The ones with willing hearts that connect beyond isolation. The ones that learned to dance in the rain. The ones who brought us joy in spite of the storm. It will be the ones like Kelcy Mohr who risked it all, fought for us with courage and refused to let our light be dimmed.