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Dance Teacher With a Difference
By Jennifer Reinert
Disabled? No. Handicapped? No. Determined? Yes!
 All dancers face certain
challenges that ultimately limit them or lead them to great
personal success. I'm no different, but mine has been with
me since my first breath: I was born with one arm missing
below the elbow. Because of that, my life in dance took a
different turn than it might have otherwise--but it took me a
long time to realize that, and the path I've taken has been
a rewarding one.
When I was growing up, no one in my house ever referred to
me as handicapped. I never liked that word;
it always rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it was because it
was like saying that I couldn't do things that
everyone else could, and I never had reason to believe that.
My family would laughingly call me "slightly
disadvantaged" instead. When I was big enough to walk I was
fitted with my first prosthetic arm. Back then they weren't
as sophisticated or cosmetically attractive as they are
today. Mine had a lot of straps that went around my back and
under my arm to hold it on, and that is what I wore when I
started my first ballet class at age 2.
My parents put me in activities when I was very young to get
me used to being around other kids despite my obvious
difference. They enrolled me in swimming lessons when I was
in preschool so that I would feel comfortable without my
prosthetic arm on in front of others. My dad asked his
sister, Suzanne Taylor, who owned the New Hampshire School
of Ballet, to let me take dance classes even though I was
very young. My
earliest memories of dancing were of wearing those
uncomfortable straps underneath my tutus in the middle of
the summer. (I had to wear a T-shirt underneath so the
straps wouldn't pinch my skin.) Nevertheless, dancing
somehow stuck with me for the past 37 years.
Although it's not very common to have someone with a
prosthetic limb in a dance school, my aunt (who was also my
teacher) treated me no differently than the other kids. She
expected of me what she expected of everyone else, and
that's the way I wanted it. For example, in ballet class I
could not hold onto the barre
with my left hand, so I had to do all the exercises on that
side without support. And my aunt still expected
my grands battements to be as high as everyone else's. That
might seem like a disadvantage, but I always had
a great center and fantastic balance from years of working
without the support of the barre.
I developed a passion for dance and started living at the
studio, or so it seemed. We did a lot of community-service
performances at schools and homes for the elderly, as well
as charity events and telethons. I
loved performing and being onstage, whether that meant
performing for hundreds of people or for 20 senior
citizens who were eating dinner. In my teens I began taking
dance seriously. As I look back on those
years of performing, I cannot express enough thanks to my
aunt for treating me as an equal on the stage. She
focused on my talent and not my disadvantage, and while it
would have been easier to place me in the back
during serious performances so as not to distract from the
group, she put me exactly where I belonged. I danced many
lead roles in performances, took partnering classes, and
even began teaching for her at age 15.
I remember the first two classes I taught. I had to
choreograph a dance for a performance of Grease, and
I took great pride in my students' ability to carry out my
choreography. From then on I taught every year, taking
on more responsibility each time. I enjoyed it very much;
however, my true passion was dancing.
But as I progressed through high school, I had to take a
serious look at what my future would hold. During
my junior year, when our performance group provided the
entertainment at the Miss New Hampshire
scholarship pageant, the editor of the Union Leader
newspaper saw me dance and wanted to do an article
about my life. I think that was the first time I realized
that I was a little different from everybody else. Still,
the article gave me the boost of confidence I needed to
start seriously thinking about a dance career.
In my senior year I entered the Junior Miss scholarship
pageant and won the talent division and placed
as a finalist. In doing so I obtained a four-year
scholarship that would pay for half my schooling at our
local
business college. My first choices in colleges were schools
where I could major in the arts. My parents' theory
about college, however, was that you had to come up with
your own way to pay for it. So when that business
school scholarship was offered, I had no choice but to
accept it. My plan was to keep dancing and
teaching at my school to hone my skills while proceeding
with a business degree. After college, I thought, I
could do some auditions.
Meanwhile, I entered the Miss New Hampshire state pageant
for two years, placing as third and second runner-up and
winning the talent competition, which helped me pay for my
schooling. But
during my sophomore year in college I realized the truth
about my chances for a dance career. Every time I saw Boston
Ballet perform, rented a dance video, or went to New York to
see a musical, I was reminded that never once did I see
anyone else like me onstage. It's hard enough to make it as
a dancer even if you are talented--and I fell into a category
of dancers that didn't exist yet.
Throughout my life I have felt that God has a plan for
everyone, and during my sophomore year as an accounting
major, I realized this was not for me. I planned to finish
my associate's degree but decided not
to continue on with my bachelor's. I wanted to fill my life
with music and motion, musicals and pointe shoes,
not numbers and spreadsheets. It was at this time that my
aunt told me that after 26 years she was
ready to move on to something else and asked if I was
interested in taking over the school. At first I thought
it was just conversation, and I said yes without hesitating
or thinking. But the offer was for real, and
in June my aunt announced at the recital that I, at the age
of 20, would be the school's new director.
Although I was young and inexperienced at running a
business, purchasing the school was the best move
of my life. My aunt was a great role model as a disciplined
yet inspiring teacher. My mother came on board as
my secretary, bookkeeper, office manager, and whatever else
I could throw her way. As a school owner, I believe having a
great support system behind you is so very important. I
presented my first recital when I was 21 and got married two
months later. The school has turned into one big family
business over the past 17 years. I continued to dance during
the first few years that I owned the school. I took
teachers' classes and went to Boston whenever I could. When
the school started participating in competitions, I danced
in a few professional
solo categories just to keep performing fresh for me. I
believe that performing in front of my students was
inspirational for them, because I showed them that you can
love dance at any age and in any situation. I have begun to
offer classes for students who have serious handicaps and
prostheses, with a goal of giving them a chance to do
something they love. We started this year by giving private
lessons to a child with
a prosthetic leg, and they are going beautifully. The smile
on this child's face is worth it all. This is a step in
the right direction for the school and I know we will
proceed further with it next year.
Was I disappointed that I could not become a dancer? While I
can't deny that it was my hope and dream, my
life is complete. I get to share something I love and feel
that I'm good at with others who have the same dream
I did. Though my life took a different direction than I
thought it would, I am still privileged to say that by my
side are my family, my husband, and my two children--and
my dance.
Jennifer Reinert believes that as a teacher with a
difference, she shows her students that people can love
dance at any age and in any situation.
Photo courtesy Jennifer Reinert
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