Blue for her Prairie Blue recital

“I don’t want to do dance anymore! I don’t like it!” yelled Kendall, my 4-year-old, as she sat in our foyer refusing to leave.

“This is the last time you have to dance,” I said softly, trying to remain calm. “If you want to quit after your recital, that’s fine. But you have to dance today.”

It was 9 on a Saturday morning and we were already supposed to be at the high school practicing for that evening’s recital. Kendall had refused to get dressed and, now that she was finally clothed, was refusing to put on her shoes so we could get out the door.

“I don’t want to go to dance!” she yelled, rolling across the floor.

“Kendall, just think about all the other girls in your class and how hard you guys have worked all year. You don’t want to let them down by not showing up, do you? Think of your friends ...”

She stopped flopping around and thought for a minute.

“Are they going to miss me if I’m not there?”

“Yes. Of course they are. You’re their friend. And you also need to be there to dance in your spot. That way the other girls will know where their spots are,” I said, casually putting her sneakers in front of her feet.

“I don’t want to wear my sneakers!”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to wear your sneakers. How about your boots?”

“Yes,” she conceded, swinging her feet towards me. I put on her shoes as quickly as I could, swung our bags over my shoulder and ushered her out the door.

“When we get there,” I said as I strapped her into her car seat, “they’ll probably have started already so just run right up on stage and find your spot, OK?”

“That’s fine they started without me because I’m not dancing. I’m done,” she said deadpan.

“What do you mean? You have to dance today. Today is the last day and then you don’t have to dance anymore if you don’t want to.”

“But, I can’t dance today. I don’t know all the steps perfectly,” she said without the slightest tinge of sadness.

This sent a wave of sadness through me, though.

We had been practicing at home for weeks and Kendall often got frustrated and wanted to stop when she couldn’t do all of the choreography perfectly. She wanted to be able to already know how to dance.

They don’t really show all the practice sessions on TV or in the movies. Fred Astaire just floats across the stage. Kendall was hoping she’d put the tap shoes on and instantly become Ginger Rogers.

Even in one of our favorite books, “Angelina Ballerina,” Angelina becomes a famous ballet dancer in about two pages.

Kendall enjoyed going to dance class most weeks. Some days she was tired and didn’t really want to go. But once she got there she had fun.

I took Kendall’s hands in mine, and looked her straight in the eyes: “Kendall, it doesn’t matter if you can do the steps perfectly or not. All that matters today is that you have fun. If you forget the steps, all you need to do is dance. Dance whatever you want. Make up any steps you want. As long as you dance, you’ll be fine. OK?”

“OK. I’ll just dance.”

When we arrived at rehearsal, her class was already on stage, but thankfully hadn’t even begun yet. Kendall changed into her dance shoes and eagerly joined her friends on stage. And she danced. She danced the right steps! She did so well. I was blown away. She danced more than she ever did during any practice.

When she exited the stage, her face was plastered with a big smile. She was free to go, but she insisted we stay to watch the older girls dance.

We stayed for hours.

Kendall ended up running around the theater playing with her friends and watching the other dances.

By that evening, she was so excited to slip into her sparkly orange tutu-ed leotard and get back on stage. When her class performed, her grin was from ear-to-ear. She stood with confidence. Even after most of the girls forgot the steps and the audience let out a collective chuckle, they still beamed with pride.

Kendall nearly bowled me over with a hug when I went backstage to collect her. She gasped with joy when we presented her with a bouquet of flowers for a job well done. And she sat in the audience with wonderment, her eyes transfixed on the other dancers, for the remainder of the performance.

She twirled and leapt in the back of the theater. She did plies and grangettes.

“That was amazing!” she exclaimed back at home.

“Did you have fun?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Yes! I loved my dance recital!”

“What was your favorite part?”

“I liked dancing and then everyone clapping for me when I was done. I felt like a star!”

“So, do you want to keep doing dance?”

“Of course! When’s our next recital? Tomorrow? Can we have another recital tomorrow,” she held her arms above her head and spun around before adding, ever so eagerly: “Please?”

Andra Kucerak Guccione is a Jefferson resident.