>Dancing Lesson

>She wanted to dance.

We’d gone to 18th-century settlement Manskers Station for its annual Christmas celebration and my six-year-old daughter Punky had patiently endured the dulcimer playing, the syllabub tasting, the old-fashioned caroling, and the historic reenactments that to her probably sounded like gibberish.

It was the end of the evening and as we prepared to leave, a small group of children formed a circle before a quartet of musicians. Dressed in period costume, they danced. Punky wanted desperately to dance with them. But they seemed to know what they were doing. And she did not.

“Just join in, Punky,” I told her. “They’ll show you what to do.” I pointed at two other little girls dressed in jeans and puffy jackets who were gamely attempting to do the steps along with the other children.

“I’m feeling nervous,” Punky said. “And shy.”

I smiled at her and shrugged my shoulders, but I could see the desire burning in my daughter’s eyes- and I knew that she, who loved to dance about as much as anything, would sorely regret not joining the other children.

“Look. Don’t be shy,” I urged her, taking her hands and kneeling in front of her. “You’re a wonderful dancer. I know you can do it.” Still, she hesitated. Eventually, she made her way to the edge of the group and stood as if waiting for an invitation. When none came, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“I dance wif you, Punky,” her three-year-old brother said, coming up behind her. Ordinarily, this would have been met with scorn, but on this night, it was just the push Punky needed. With her brother, she stepped into the circle of dancers and together…

…they danced.

Oh, how they danced!

In fact, Punky soon forgot about her brother entirely and got lost in the sounds of the fiddle and guitar.

She twirled and she whirled and she kicked and she stomped and she jumped and she pranced and she lost track of everyone and everything except for the music.

She wasn’t particularly graceful. I didn’t watch her and see visions of my daughter dancing one day with the New York Ballet, or even the Poughkeepsie one.

But somehow, the image of her turning circles without fear before a crowd of onlookers stuck with me. Because I’m at a point in my life where I see myself standing at the edge of the group, wanting so badly to join in that dance.

I want to lift my feet and be me, the really real me, regardless of what others might think or say.

I want to lose myself in my own rhythm and purpose and to accept that there will be many missteps, which are okay as long as I learn from them.

I want to face my fears head-on rather than wondering later about what could have been.

I want to dance.

Don’t you?