Tiny Dancers

When I was three, I took dance lessons a block and a half away from home in a little studio on Marsden. My teacher was Miss Susan. She was a tiny woman with a pixie haircut and a strong Philly accent. Lessons were fun. I was too young to have many lasting memories of that time, but I do remember that I really enjoyed being there and I loved my teacher. Over a decade later, Miss Susan recognized me in a grocery store and stopped me to ask how my sister, my mother and I were doing - she remembered all of our names.

A few years later, my grandmother decided it was an important part of our heritage for my sister and I to learn Irish dance, so we took up classes with Miss Timoney at Blessed Virgin Mary up on Welsh in the Northeast. We performed at libraries, festivals and in the St. Patrick's Day parade (in frigid weather, with runny noses). My grandmother was right, though, I felt a greater connection to my roots, dressed in traditional Irish dance attire and swirling around, feet flying and arms by my sides.

Every week during the summer for a while, a live band played swing down by the Delaware River. If you got there early, they gave free lessons. My mom used to take us, sometimes with friends from church. Listening to that larger-than-life music as the sun faded and we felt the summer breeze coming up from the river, the world was magical. Once, my mom took my sister and I to a night of swing lessons at some place up near Bryn Mawr and an older man asked me if I'd like to jitterbug. I thought it was sweet and accepted - a few weeks later, we saw him on stage at the river winning a dance competition - swirling and flipping his partner through the air, effortlessly. It was amazing!

In high school, my sister discovered contra dance at a folk festival. The next year, at the same festival, someone asked me to dance and although I hadn't the foggiest clue what I was doing, I had fun. I was hooked, overnight. I traveled up and down the east coast going to dance weekends for a while. I couldn't get enough of the lively traditional English and Irish music that filled a room with light-hearted beauty.

Dance has a special place in my heart. Seeing these girls all dressed up for their recital reminded me of how dance at this age represents so much innocence and light in what can be such a dark, sad world. Running around on stage, not yet seasoned tap-dance pros, just having fun - excited to be in their bright, sparkly, poufy dresses. It's just about one of the sweetest things I can think of. It's amazing to me that we can spend our entire adult lives trying to regain the simple happiness and excitement that comes effortlessly to children.