Yesterday, we went to the ballet recital of a young friend. The younger sister of T1’s girlfriend, we’ve come to think of both girls as practically family and were excited to cheer her efforts.
It was blissfully typical of most dance recitals.
We watched the older girls, getting ready to soar into the next phase of their lives, enjoy well-deserved accolades after years of practice. Then we watched younger dancers emerging like butterflies. Our friend distinguished herself beautifully, hitting her marks and helping the youngest dancers hit theirs.
As usual, those youngest dancers, with their fairy costumes and exhuberance, stole the show.
One little fairy in particular captured everyone’s attention. About four, she sashayed onto the stage as gracefully as a four-year-old can, glancing back at her group for confirmation that the steps were right. Glee infected her as they began twirling, causing us to wonder if she would twirl right off the stage. She was often just a beat behind the others but always a bounce or twirl above, dancing to the music as if she had her own rhythm section in her head.
The music ended, and her partners sashayed off to the left. She began to skip and hop after them, and for a moment she seemed to be trying to fly. The audience chuckled as one and then applauded, as if we were all remembering what it was like to move just for the fun of it and hoping that the little magic spark that lit up the tiny ballerina might actually get her to fly someday.