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Feel Your Presents
By
Marcia Aller
Students’ gifts that keep on giving
It’s time to put away the ceramic rabbit and the beautiful
carved wooden egg. The fragile blown-and-painted eggs will be
safe for another year, protected in their nests of bubble
wrap. And with them go memories that I enjoy unwrapping along
with these holiday ornaments every year.
Tucked away in nooks and crannies throughout my family’s home
are representations of every holiday and special occasion.
Items from various ethnic groups and nationalities sit side by
side. Like that carved wooden egg—though it came from Hungary,
it really came from the heart of one of my little ballerinas.
Her grandmother brought it with her when she escaped from the
tyranny of the 1956 Hungarian Revolution. Grandma passed it on
to her daughter; her daughter passed it on to her daughter,
Eva; Eva gave it to me. It’s quite an honor to have had such
an emotionally significant gift bestowed on me, and I think of
Eva’s beautiful blonde hair and turned-in toes every time I
set it out at Easter. The blown eggs are a Polish tradition,
and I have received many over the years. They don’t match in
color, size, or perfection, and neither did their dancing
donors. But each one is special to me; they represent the joy
that dance teachers often feel when working with the
challenges and variety of personalities in a class.
I am still in wonder at the thoughtfulness of a particular
group of teenagers at my studio. They were advanced dancers,
the top-of-the-line kids—the kind that started lessons at age
4 and almost lived at the studio, taking every ballet, tap,
and jazz class they could. In a year when many students
were going off to college or dance careers, I received a gift
from those 32 girls that left me speechless. Each had written
her name on a fabr ic
square in big, fat letters, and their moms
took those squares and assembled the most beautiful, unique,
and filled-with-love quilt you ever saw.
Like most dance teachers, I have received many lovely gifts at
holiday times—sometimes in multiples. One year I received
every cream sachet scent that Avon made. Another year it was
five pens adorned with the pink ribbon that symbolizes the
fight against breast cancer. I take a small travel pillow
(another thoughtful gift) on every trip, and it brings back
happy and silly memories. And lots of cookies and fudge have
made the annual “I will lose weight” New Year’s resolution a
must for me.
For years now I have put up two Christmas trees—our tree at
home, with family-remembrance ornaments, and my “dancing tree”
at the studio. It takes hours and hours to decorate that tree
because as I hang each ornament I think about the student who
gave it to me. Many are handmade— one of a kind, just like the
child who gave it to me. I have ballerinas in arabesque,
sitting on chairs, tying shoes, or being lifted by partners.
(I can imagine my little dancers dreaming of themselves in
those stunning tutus and poses.) I also have ballerina pigs,
reindeer, Santas, cows, cats, and (of course) frogs. The
Nutcracker selection is interesting, as is the variety of
tiny dance shoes. Moms and grandmas seem to get in the spirit
too, judging from the unique cross-stitch pieces I have
collected.
Holidays, however, aren’t the only times when memories of
former students flood my mind. An exquisite painting by a
Moscow street artist hangs in my living room. (T hank
you, Sandra!) A bookcase holds a limited-edition collector’s
plate of a Don Quixote scene
as portrayed by American Ballet Theatre. (Thanks, Rene!) Also
in places of honor are a Degas sculpture (thanks, Eye of the
Storm teens), a pewter ballet figurine (courtesy of Leslie),
and a small painting of pointe shoes. The painting, only three
inches by four inches, done by a very talented and beautiful
student, has its own story. The painter, “T,” could have been
a professional dancer. I thought she had everything it
takes—brains, talent, looks, and a supportive family. I was
right on three counts and wrong on the fourth. When she
stopped dancing as a junior in high school, I was crushed.
Three years later, she called me from a rehab center and
talked and talked. I heard about her abusive dad, her
demanding mom, and school pressures. She cried when she told
me that her only happy times had been at dance school. I cried
too. It was my last contact with her. I wonder if she can feel
me thinking about her as I dust the little painting.
We teachers are so lucky to have so many perks. Each day,
going to the studio, I wonder, “Will today be a diamond or a
rock?” We’re all familiar with those rocks. But oh, how those
beautiful, never-to-be-forgotten diamonds shine in our lives
and memories.
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