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Column My dancer son nears middle school years
By KRIS BERGGREN
The Christmas season is approaching,
and in our house letters to Santa are being composed, gifts for far-away loved
ones purchased, and party plans in the works. In our house its also
Nutcracker time. Among the dozens of local versions of
Tchaikovskys classic ballet set on Christmas Eve in Russia is the
City Childrens Nutcracker, which involves hundreds of local
children as dancers, plus a few ringers as the main characters.
The dancers have been rehearsing for weeks now, striving to
perfect basic ballet technique and get the choreography down pat. Theyve
been measured for costumes, the CD version of the work is getting lots of
airtime at home, and the box office is moving tickets. This year my 8-year-old
daughter will perform, following in the footsteps of her older brother, who is
10.
I went through the ballerina phase when I was a kid. I never
dreamed I could be the next Mia Hamm, Jennifer Lobos or Marian Jones. A prima
ballerina, that was in the parameters. My brothers could run track and play
football and Little League. I stuck to just-for-fun kickball in the backyard or
the street. In those days the slogan, Youve come a long way,
baby referred to a brand of cigarette, not any achievement or
accomplishment by women.
Well, I didnt grow up to be a dancer, but I did grow up to
be a mom. Elated at the birth of my firstborn, I already had plans for him: My
boy would grow up to be a fine, compassionate human being, raised in a
non-sexist atmosphere where he would never be pigeonholed into playing with
guns and trucks while his sisters got Barbies and ballet classes. His dad, by
all accounts a jock as a kid, anticipated teaching our son to pitch the strike
zone, swish free throws, and handle a hat trick -- though he would also read
with him, take him to piano lessons, teach him to cook.
Today at age 10, my son is a compassionate and fine human being.
Several mothers of girls in his class have confided that while their daughters
arent especially partial to boys, they do like my son, because hes
gentle, quiet and respectful. He loves piano, singing, reading and art. Though
he likes gym and plays a little soccer and tennis, my tall son with the broad
shoulders never scans the box scores in the sports section of the newspaper or
pines after a certain hockey stick or baseball glove. I bet he couldnt
name five professional athletes. But he loves to dance. His face lights up when
its time to go to Nutcracker practice. So whats the
problem?
The problem is that boys dont dance.
I am fortunate to travel in circles that include lots of creative
types, artists, performers, poets and teachers -- and their kids -- who applaud
my sons interest. But as he approaches those unforgiving middle school
years, even his teacher wondered aloud if there was something we could do to
toughen him up just a bit.
Most parents probably are just as happy if their girls act like
tomboys -- that is, interested in sports, science and climbing
trees, all things once considered boys realm. But its still not OK
for boys to be interested in things traditionally relegated to girlish
interests. We dont even have a name for it, except the ugly
sissy. I will never forget what I saw in a toy store several years
ago: I noticed a little boy, maybe 5 years old, who had picked up a baton and
begun to twirl it. His mother barked at him as if hed just picked up a
dead animal: Put that down! Thats for girls! So thats
it, I thought. Were afraid our boys are going to be too much like girls
if theyre allowed to do girl things. Or, were afraid
theyre going to be gay. (Ive got news for you, if you think playing
with batons or going to dance class will make your son gay: If
hes gay, hes gay. There are gay football and hockey players -- the
macho of the macho. There are straight dancers and hairdressers. Get over
it.)
Lets get cross-cultural for a minute. In many societies
spanning the continents and human history, men, not women, have been the
dancers. A poem by Timothy Young, Men Dont Dance in America,
includes these lines:
Dancing is the library of our bodies, and dancing is the
history of our souls. But were not like Lakota or the African Zulu, we
dont understand the beating drum. White men dont dance in
America. Dancing is motion thats more than emotion, it heralds men to
the dreamworld. Dancing is immediate, the negation of age, it carries us into
our boy joy. Its boy joy, its boy joy, its boy joy ...
its joy.
I have a proposition. This Christmas, lets all give our
children the greatest gift of all, the gift of loving them for who they are,
not what they do, and allowing them to love what they love. My dream is that
one day a mother can rejoice with her son the dancer as proudly as she does
about her son -- or daughter -- the goalie or shortstop. Until then, Im
here to tell you, we havent really come all that far, baby.
Kris Berggren writes from Minneapolis. She can be reached by
e-mail at bergolk@earthlink.net
National Catholic Reporter, December 8,
2000
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