28 August 2019
As a lifelong lover of the ballet — and as a child of immigrant parents who could not afford to start me in classes when I was little — there was no question that my own kids would be enrolled in dance training as soon as they hit preschool.
When my son was 4, the movie “Billy Elliot” had already come out, telling the story of an English coal miner’s son who, at age 11, battles masculine disapproval to study ballet. The heartwarming film hardened my spine against skeptical family members who wondered why I enrolled my firstborn in level-one tap and ballet classes.
When, predictably, he was the only boy in his class, no amount of assuring him that many big, strong men were proud to call themselves ballet dancers would assuage his shame. Especially when all the mommies fawned over his teeny black slippers.
He cried at his recital and, when it was over, I let him quit. That was that for his dance-related college scholarship.
Read the full article in The Times Herald.