Monday, July 23, 2007 at 2:02am
Mommy, I want to dance!
Column: Woman at the Well
"Mommy, I want to dance." I was 2.
"So dance."
"I want to learn how."
"Yes, dear. Someday."
"I want to learn now!"
"You're too young. You have to be at least 5."
"How many is that?"
She held up five fingers. I started to cry.
We must have had that conversation a hundred times by the time I was 3, because Mom finally found a ballet studio that would take a precocious 3-year-old. By the time I was 4, I was dancing a duet recital at the California State Fair. That's me, the little one on the left with the blond curls.
I don't know why I was so determined to dance. Some folks say we come from God and only forget our sacred origins as we age. My determination to dance definitely feels like a God thing.
Dancing has saved my life — literally, as well as emotionally and spiritually. Being an embodied human being, always aware of the space I inhabit, has helped me protect myself in harrowing circumstances.
Dancing was a gift that allowed me to express the pain and joy in my life for which I had no words. It gave me a way to express myself that took me out of the jumble in my head and into the mystery of meaning that links us all to the divine simply by virtue of being alive.
Dancing allowed me to honor my toes, the tips of my fingers, my sturdy legs, my graceful arms. It taught me that even ugly life experiences can be expressed with beauty when danced.
Long hours of dancing in front of the mirror in my bedroom allowed me to process the loneliness and anguish of living in a rage-filled house. It also gave me skills with which to impress my friends. It set me apart. It healed me.
Ballet lessons began at 3. My wise teacher never advanced me to toe in my nine years of training. I was small-boned and would have developed those massive leg muscles on young dancers who progress too soon.
At 12, I began to realize that a career as a ballerina, although open to me, would mean long hours of brutal workouts and lots of pain. Not for me. I dropped ballet and turned to modern, to jazz, to tap, to ballroom, and eventually to hip hop. I never stopped dancing, but at 12 I wrote my first poem.
I do not know how I would have survived intact without the gift of dance. I believe God knew how much I would need it and planted the desire deep in this child's heart.
— — —
Rev. Kristi Denham is pastor of the Congregational Church of Belmont, California (United Church of Christ). Her email address is {email RevKristi@aol.com}RevKristi@aol.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Kristi Denham.
"So dance."
"I want to learn how."
"Yes, dear. Someday."
"I want to learn now!"
"You're too young. You have to be at least 5."
"How many is that?"
She held up five fingers. I started to cry.
We must have had that conversation a hundred times by the time I was 3, because Mom finally found a ballet studio that would take a precocious 3-year-old. By the time I was 4, I was dancing a duet recital at the California State Fair. That's me, the little one on the left with the blond curls.
I don't know why I was so determined to dance. Some folks say we come from God and only forget our sacred origins as we age. My determination to dance definitely feels like a God thing.
Dancing has saved my life — literally, as well as emotionally and spiritually. Being an embodied human being, always aware of the space I inhabit, has helped me protect myself in harrowing circumstances.
Dancing was a gift that allowed me to express the pain and joy in my life for which I had no words. It gave me a way to express myself that took me out of the jumble in my head and into the mystery of meaning that links us all to the divine simply by virtue of being alive.
Dancing allowed me to honor my toes, the tips of my fingers, my sturdy legs, my graceful arms. It taught me that even ugly life experiences can be expressed with beauty when danced.
Long hours of dancing in front of the mirror in my bedroom allowed me to process the loneliness and anguish of living in a rage-filled house. It also gave me skills with which to impress my friends. It set me apart. It healed me.
Ballet lessons began at 3. My wise teacher never advanced me to toe in my nine years of training. I was small-boned and would have developed those massive leg muscles on young dancers who progress too soon.
At 12, I began to realize that a career as a ballerina, although open to me, would mean long hours of brutal workouts and lots of pain. Not for me. I dropped ballet and turned to modern, to jazz, to tap, to ballroom, and eventually to hip hop. I never stopped dancing, but at 12 I wrote my first poem.
I do not know how I would have survived intact without the gift of dance. I believe God knew how much I would need it and planted the desire deep in this child's heart.
— — —
Rev. Kristi Denham is pastor of the Congregational Church of Belmont, California (United Church of Christ). Her email address is {email RevKristi@aol.com}RevKristi@aol.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Kristi Denham.