Children and Dancing

I can’t say that I have any idea how easy it is to teach children belly dancing in the Middle East where it seems to be a natural part of growing up, but I have some tricks for here in America.

A long time ago, I taught ballet, tap, and jazz to 4-6 year olds at a little studio in Saco, Maine in exchange for a tuition reduction for my own classes. What appeared to be a fantastic opportunity to hone my teaching skills at the most basic level developed into one hour of babysitting a group of mini Napoleons weekly.

The first day of class, I arrived early with my music selections chosen, lesson plan worked out, and properly attired in a leotard, tights, skirt, and leg warmers. My hair was pulled up in a tight knot and I was excited at the fact that I was about to be called “Miss Sybil” for the very first time.

I spent half an hour warming up and going over my simple schedule that included stretching, barre work, a short combination, and then onto tap

My students began to arrive while I organized the albums by the record player (yes, I am that old). I knew many of them from my tutoring position at the local elementary school. Three girls that I was specifically familiar with rushed me with hugs. One girl, Genevieve wrapped herself around me and refused to let go.

Amidst the flutter of tutus, ponytails, and chatter, it became rapidly evident that I was not in control of the class. The girls were doing their own thing, one was hanging from the barre and crying, another was humping the floor in an attempt to perfect the “caterpillar” and another was running in circles, an apparent aftermath of a sugary breakfast cereal.

I almost quit that first try. But, I needed the trade off because my mother was getting very tired of paying for all of my classes and costumes. Dance isn’t cheap.

I kept returning and struggling to get those girls to stand in line, wear appropriate clothing (tutus are every little ballet student’s dream, but are unsuitable for practice).

Around the holiday season, I had put together a lesson plan that included sitting in a circle and singing traditional songs. After barre work and some tondues and plies in the middle of the room, we sat down. I put on Frosty the Snowman and started to sing. At first, I could barely hear myself over the talking, but then small voices drifted and mingled with my own. Then Genevieve stood up and pirouetted. A couple of girls followed her example and then more. Finally, I stood up and danced too.

We made it through every song on that album. And when were done, I realized the entire class knew all the steps I had been trying to teach them. When class was over, everyone applauded and their voices rose together, “Thank you, Miss Sybil.” Genevieve hugged me on her way out and I paused to hold her a little bit tighter that day.