I was browsing through a message board one day and an advertisement for a dance studio jumped out at me. OK, it wasnt really an advertisement, per se. In fact, it wasnt an advertisement at all. Someone was asking for a recommendation for a dance class for their little girl and I wanted to see if anyone would recommend the dance studio that had broken my girl's love of dance. Someone did. And just as I was reaching for the "Reply to this message" button, I stopped to read the rest of the responses. Just beneath, in a fairly non descript post, someone had a recommendation for a dance studio I had thought was gone. you see, many people had recommended this dance studio and the lady who ran it, but when we went to look for it, it had closed down. Or so we thought.
As it turned out, she had closed her studio, but was still offering small group lessons and in a location that was 50 000x better than the last place! I felt a mix between excitement and fear. What if going to a different teacher really wasnt the problem? What if my girls really were just disillusioned by dancing for life?
I first asked Elena if she was willing to try dancing again. She had, after all, been more willing to stick it out the last time around. She agreed to a new dance teacher and more dance lessons. Thankfully, Elena's memory is shorter and her hard feelings, while pasionate, are not long lasting. She is not one to hold a grudge forever.
Julia, though, had to be approached a bit more delicately. So we told her that she could just watch Elena's class and see if it was something that she wanted to join. We spoke to the teacher, a lovely lady who was just as crestfallen about Julia's experiences in dance as we were. Her visible dismay when we told her that Julia had lost her love of dancing was telling.
"But all little girls should love to dance! They should dance everywhere! In the kitchen! In the living room! In the grocery store!" She flapped her hands as she spoke, her distress punctuating each place that she saw would-be petite ballerinas. She had me then, but her words only helped to solidify my feeling that I had found the teacher I wanted to teach my children.
Julia and I peeked in the windows at Elena's class and saw the songs and rhymes, the way she held their hands as they danced and played beautiful classical ballet andantes and waltzes. We saw the thoughtful props--sparkly wands and fluttering scarves. And as we watched Julia grew excited and interested. And thus, Julia's love of dancing was rekindled.
I can not express my gratitude in clear enough words to say what is in my heart. What gift is there for someone's creativity? What appreciation is sufficient for someone's childhood joy?
We can only do small things in our lives, perhaps. Mother Teresa famously said that if we do those small things with great love, great things will happen.
I agree. Ms. Joanne, you have done a great thing, though it may seem small to you. And for that I am eternally grateful.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Holidailies: Appreciation (Part 2)
When we chose activities for the kids, we were (and are) limited by the community and availability. But, as little girls are the way they are, we had twirling ballerinas in our living rooms, in our kitchen and everywhere we went. "I love to dance, mom!" The girls would join their little hands and, shrieking with laughter and exhileration. They would spin themselves dizzy and fall in a giggling heap and then get up and do it again. It seemed natural, then, to find somewhere that they could harness that exuberance and dance to their little hearts content.
We searched for a dance studio and found one that seemed fresh and new. Both girls were excited by the majesty of the dance outfits, the ballet slippers bought especially for that class. We looked forward to the dance show--tiny twirling petite ballerinas spinning in tutus. Truly a picture of magical childhood memories.
The first days were rough and confused but sometimes it takes an adjustment period and we felt that we should encourage the girls to wait and see how things went, to keep trying, to have fun. I had my misgivings about everything related to the dance class but I kept it to myself, not wanting to taint the joy of dancing and feeling a bit out of my element since I had never taken dance, so how could I crititcize?
Slowly, it began to sink in--the crying and begging not to go; the struggle to cajole them into attending. There was no more dancing in the living room. They didnt twirl in the kitchen. They didnt play pretend ballerina" anywhere anymore. And worse, they started to say, "I hate dancing." Somehow, somewhere along the way, dance class made my girls feel sad and small.
Julia told me one day that she didn't love dancing and that she wanted to stop because dancing felt bad. I had my own reservations but I wasnt the one who was dancing so perhaps I just didnt understand what was happening. We asked Elena the same questions about her classes and she agreed to give it one more chance, just to make sure. But with Julia, the joy was gone and there were no more chances left in her to even try.
In the end we allowed her to quit dancing, felt badly enough that she wasnt enamopured by dancing, that at age 5, she had already set her heart against it. It made me weep that the thing that had given them so much joy was also giving her so much grief. What had gone so terribly wrong?
Time passed and Julia had some misgivings about quitting, especially when the year end dance show came and went, but even Elena had a hard time scrounging up her enthusiasm. She did it, complained about her tutu, and then, when it was done for the year, felt relieved and glad to be done. A three year old should not feel such things about something they love to do.
So it seemed that their dance class days were done--I didnt have the heart for pushing them or continue enrolling them in something that brought them such deep unhappiness. I hoped that one day they would rekindle their love of dance if I left it alone. As it turned out, it was rekindled, quite by accident.
We searched for a dance studio and found one that seemed fresh and new. Both girls were excited by the majesty of the dance outfits, the ballet slippers bought especially for that class. We looked forward to the dance show--tiny twirling petite ballerinas spinning in tutus. Truly a picture of magical childhood memories.
The first days were rough and confused but sometimes it takes an adjustment period and we felt that we should encourage the girls to wait and see how things went, to keep trying, to have fun. I had my misgivings about everything related to the dance class but I kept it to myself, not wanting to taint the joy of dancing and feeling a bit out of my element since I had never taken dance, so how could I crititcize?
Slowly, it began to sink in--the crying and begging not to go; the struggle to cajole them into attending. There was no more dancing in the living room. They didnt twirl in the kitchen. They didnt play pretend ballerina" anywhere anymore. And worse, they started to say, "I hate dancing." Somehow, somewhere along the way, dance class made my girls feel sad and small.
Julia told me one day that she didn't love dancing and that she wanted to stop because dancing felt bad. I had my own reservations but I wasnt the one who was dancing so perhaps I just didnt understand what was happening. We asked Elena the same questions about her classes and she agreed to give it one more chance, just to make sure. But with Julia, the joy was gone and there were no more chances left in her to even try.
In the end we allowed her to quit dancing, felt badly enough that she wasnt enamopured by dancing, that at age 5, she had already set her heart against it. It made me weep that the thing that had given them so much joy was also giving her so much grief. What had gone so terribly wrong?
Time passed and Julia had some misgivings about quitting, especially when the year end dance show came and went, but even Elena had a hard time scrounging up her enthusiasm. She did it, complained about her tutu, and then, when it was done for the year, felt relieved and glad to be done. A three year old should not feel such things about something they love to do.
So it seemed that their dance class days were done--I didnt have the heart for pushing them or continue enrolling them in something that brought them such deep unhappiness. I hoped that one day they would rekindle their love of dance if I left it alone. As it turned out, it was rekindled, quite by accident.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Holidailies: Appreciation (Part 1)
Today I am guilty of running out and buying a spur of the moment gift for Christmas. I will also admit that I had forgotten to get the girls' ballet teacher anything for the season at all and, while that is not exactly the worst thing ever since not everyone needs to get a gift for everything (see previous post about the "reason for the season") I really feel strongly about letting people know that their work is noticed and appreciated.
As a teacher I know that the appreciation for the time I spend with teenagers pays dividents far in the future. I know that one day a former student will look up and say "Hey I learned that in my high school English class" and that moment when they think back and say, "Huh, I cant believe I remember that." will be my payment. It's not much, but I hang onto the idea that one day it *will* happen. I am not there to witness it but I am mostly OK with that. I dont need more tchkokes anyway.
What is important to me, however, is making sure that the people in my children's lives know just how much we appreciate the efforts that they make and that who they are is helping to mold the future. Now you may be thinking that is a rather grandiose and exaggerated statement, but I can tell you that every person who spends more than 5 mintues with my children is remembered. My children still talk about people they have only met once, in passing. "Hey mom, do you remember that man in the store when I was 2 years old? He gave me some money when we were standing in line. I was shy but he gave me money anyway. Remember him, mom?" Yes. I would rather have her forget that creep but, alas, a mind like an elephant. In any case, it's always the small things that seeem to make the biggest difference. Isnt that always true?
When I was growing up, my parents afforded us a vast amount of opportunities--Chinese school, swimming lessons, music (piano and violin) camps, string orchestras and private tutors, summer camps, Scouts for my brother, and so on. And I have to admit that when was growing up it seemed like the thing to do. I never thought about the lives of the people who taught me, never thought to thank my parents for their perseverance and dedication to driving and paying for supplies and lessons, for taking the time to find out when they ran, and matching up the hectic schedule with everything else that was going on. The extracurricular grind just seemed like an inescapable part of my childhood. It never occured to me that I ought to spare a moment to thank the people who helped to graft onto my soul my love for music, who patiently guided my understanding of water, helped to spark that love of community and sharing. I dont know that my parents intended for me to learn those things, but I did.
I dont know that the things that are the most important parts of life are things that are elucidated. You know what I mean: learning to have a good conversation, learning to appreciate and then, by extension, be appreciated, learning to give back to the community because you recognize just how much the community has given to you, learning how to be a good freind. Those are moments that come with experience and trial by fire. But somewhere, too, someone has been there to show you that experience. Someone has guided you through the turbulent waters and shown you the safe harbour that exists among the jagged rock.
It is important to me, then, that I give my children as many experiences possible. We want them to find something that drives them and inspires them, of course, but more than that I want to show them that you can find amazing people in the most unlikely places. That it is people who make the world go 'round, not things.
As a teacher I know that the appreciation for the time I spend with teenagers pays dividents far in the future. I know that one day a former student will look up and say "Hey I learned that in my high school English class" and that moment when they think back and say, "Huh, I cant believe I remember that." will be my payment. It's not much, but I hang onto the idea that one day it *will* happen. I am not there to witness it but I am mostly OK with that. I dont need more tchkokes anyway.
What is important to me, however, is making sure that the people in my children's lives know just how much we appreciate the efforts that they make and that who they are is helping to mold the future. Now you may be thinking that is a rather grandiose and exaggerated statement, but I can tell you that every person who spends more than 5 mintues with my children is remembered. My children still talk about people they have only met once, in passing. "Hey mom, do you remember that man in the store when I was 2 years old? He gave me some money when we were standing in line. I was shy but he gave me money anyway. Remember him, mom?" Yes. I would rather have her forget that creep but, alas, a mind like an elephant. In any case, it's always the small things that seeem to make the biggest difference. Isnt that always true?
When I was growing up, my parents afforded us a vast amount of opportunities--Chinese school, swimming lessons, music (piano and violin) camps, string orchestras and private tutors, summer camps, Scouts for my brother, and so on. And I have to admit that when was growing up it seemed like the thing to do. I never thought about the lives of the people who taught me, never thought to thank my parents for their perseverance and dedication to driving and paying for supplies and lessons, for taking the time to find out when they ran, and matching up the hectic schedule with everything else that was going on. The extracurricular grind just seemed like an inescapable part of my childhood. It never occured to me that I ought to spare a moment to thank the people who helped to graft onto my soul my love for music, who patiently guided my understanding of water, helped to spark that love of community and sharing. I dont know that my parents intended for me to learn those things, but I did.
I dont know that the things that are the most important parts of life are things that are elucidated. You know what I mean: learning to have a good conversation, learning to appreciate and then, by extension, be appreciated, learning to give back to the community because you recognize just how much the community has given to you, learning how to be a good freind. Those are moments that come with experience and trial by fire. But somewhere, too, someone has been there to show you that experience. Someone has guided you through the turbulent waters and shown you the safe harbour that exists among the jagged rock.
It is important to me, then, that I give my children as many experiences possible. We want them to find something that drives them and inspires them, of course, but more than that I want to show them that you can find amazing people in the most unlikely places. That it is people who make the world go 'round, not things.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Holidailies: The Reason for the Season
This time of year it seems like there is never enough time to do the things I want to get accomplished need to get done in order for things to be perfect resemble the holidays. I always tell myself not to get too caught up, to limit the things I want to do and focus instead on the things that I can actually, reasonably do. What happens between the time I have that very reasonable logic and the actual madhouse panic that exists every December, I doubt I will ever know.
It seems to me that no matter what there is a current that swells up and washes me away from my intentions (good as they may be, haha) into the frenzy of everyone else. I hear a lot of people balking about how much the Christmas season should (a) be only known as the holiday season, (b) not encroach upon other months than December, (c) be less materialistic and (d) should celebrate the reason for the season. Oddly enough, although points (a) and (d) inherently conflict, people remain adamant.
My daughter is 6 and, as I have previously discussed, has shown a deep and endearing interest in the reason for the season. Since we are not church-going folk, this education in all things faith related seems a bit piecemeal and random. She picks things up from TV and movies, from her friends, from our friends and other family members and, strangely enough, from her school teachers. I guess that someone at school has taken it upon themselves to tell the kids the story of Christmas. We have freinds who are horrified at the prospect of public school infringing on Catholic school grounds--any hint, therefore of religion thereby inappropriate and plain wrong. They feel quite strongly that the "damn Jesus music" should not be played over the PA and the Christmas trees should be left under the stage from whence they came.
Neither Dwayne nor I have particularly vehement reactions to the teaching of the Christmas story, to the playing of random carols and to the twinkling vignette of Christmas trees that lights up the school entryway. We dont particularly mind that the concert is called the Christmas concert and that the break in December is not referred to as Winter break, but as Christmas break. I am a pragmatist and it is what it is. The reason we get a break in December is ecause of Christmas. I suppose that you could sugarcoat it and convince yourself that there is some other logical reason that we have the days off that exactly overlap Christmas every single year, but I think you'd be kidding yourself.
I grew up Buddhist until there were hints of corruption in the venerable monk we visited (I dont care what religion you belong to, lying about enlightenment is the one way ticket in the wrong direction) and while we didnt celebrate Christmas as the birth of Christ, we did do Christmas--we had a tree, presents, turkey dinner. We sung carols in school and watched "A Christmas Carol" and "It's a Wonderful Life". And being able to know about those stories, those traditions, the little things that revolved around the time of year, helped me to relate to the world that existed around me. I also learned about Kwannza, Channukah, Diwali, Eid al-Adha and Tohji-taisai and all of those understandings wrapped around me like a blanket that warmed me.
To me, the reason for the season has less to do with the birth of a prophet and more to do with celebrating our morality, our mortality, and our integration with one another. Simply put "Peace on Earth" needs to exist in our own hearts before we will see the change in the world. Opening our minds to explore the season, therefore, will show us the world in all its twinkly light splendour, showcasing goodwill and being first tolerant and than accepting of all our similarities.
Julia asked Dwayne "How did Jesus get his magic anyway, magic isnt real!"--> Now THAT tells me that it is Ok that she be exposed to religion, always questioning the status quo, that one. I am busy this year, yes, but I hope that the busyness translates into twinkly light splendour, into goodwill towards men, into tolerance and into love and acceptance.
It seems to me that no matter what there is a current that swells up and washes me away from my intentions (good as they may be, haha) into the frenzy of everyone else. I hear a lot of people balking about how much the Christmas season should (a) be only known as the holiday season, (b) not encroach upon other months than December, (c) be less materialistic and (d) should celebrate the reason for the season. Oddly enough, although points (a) and (d) inherently conflict, people remain adamant.
My daughter is 6 and, as I have previously discussed, has shown a deep and endearing interest in the reason for the season. Since we are not church-going folk, this education in all things faith related seems a bit piecemeal and random. She picks things up from TV and movies, from her friends, from our friends and other family members and, strangely enough, from her school teachers. I guess that someone at school has taken it upon themselves to tell the kids the story of Christmas. We have freinds who are horrified at the prospect of public school infringing on Catholic school grounds--any hint, therefore of religion thereby inappropriate and plain wrong. They feel quite strongly that the "damn Jesus music" should not be played over the PA and the Christmas trees should be left under the stage from whence they came.
Neither Dwayne nor I have particularly vehement reactions to the teaching of the Christmas story, to the playing of random carols and to the twinkling vignette of Christmas trees that lights up the school entryway. We dont particularly mind that the concert is called the Christmas concert and that the break in December is not referred to as Winter break, but as Christmas break. I am a pragmatist and it is what it is. The reason we get a break in December is ecause of Christmas. I suppose that you could sugarcoat it and convince yourself that there is some other logical reason that we have the days off that exactly overlap Christmas every single year, but I think you'd be kidding yourself.
I grew up Buddhist until there were hints of corruption in the venerable monk we visited (I dont care what religion you belong to, lying about enlightenment is the one way ticket in the wrong direction) and while we didnt celebrate Christmas as the birth of Christ, we did do Christmas--we had a tree, presents, turkey dinner. We sung carols in school and watched "A Christmas Carol" and "It's a Wonderful Life". And being able to know about those stories, those traditions, the little things that revolved around the time of year, helped me to relate to the world that existed around me. I also learned about Kwannza, Channukah, Diwali, Eid al-Adha and Tohji-taisai and all of those understandings wrapped around me like a blanket that warmed me.
To me, the reason for the season has less to do with the birth of a prophet and more to do with celebrating our morality, our mortality, and our integration with one another. Simply put "Peace on Earth" needs to exist in our own hearts before we will see the change in the world. Opening our minds to explore the season, therefore, will show us the world in all its twinkly light splendour, showcasing goodwill and being first tolerant and than accepting of all our similarities.
Julia asked Dwayne "How did Jesus get his magic anyway, magic isnt real!"--> Now THAT tells me that it is Ok that she be exposed to religion, always questioning the status quo, that one. I am busy this year, yes, but I hope that the busyness translates into twinkly light splendour, into goodwill towards men, into tolerance and into love and acceptance.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Holidailies: Beginnings
Over the last few days my daughter Julia has brought up the idea of war, having been told a bit about it in school. Since she is 6, we try to keep the conversation relatively simple, although she is a very astute kind of kid and pulls no punches when discussing things that are on her mind. She told us that in school her teacher (a first year teacher—you know the type: young, enthusiastic, and still unjaded idealistic person!) told them that war happened when there were people who were fighting with each other—bad guys who were doing bad things in other places.
I suppose that I should have allowed her the latitude to believe that war was always something that was perpetrated by “bad people” and that the people who were “good” were the ones who would always be the ones defending the world against their evil crimes. But I didn’t know where to draw the line between what makes people “good” and other people “bad”.
You see, we are always lecturing the kids to stand up for themselves—Julia is a bit of a passive aggressive type—the kid who would get pushed and rather than push back or defend herself against mean comments, would cry and then plot some exacting revenge. Anyway, we are constantly at the kids to stick up for themselves—to tell people when they are uncomfortable with the status quo, to stand up for those who are unwilling or unable to stand up for themselves.
And so I think that having clear cut ideas of what makes people “good” and “bad” opens up a kettle of fish—by shoving a bully back when she has been pushed down, she has now opened herself up to the accusation of being the aggressor, the continuer of the conflict. From the outside looking in, I guess without any context, she could be seen as a bad person for engaging in aggressive behavior. Of course, it takes understanding to see why she has done what she has and that her behavior should be characterized as defensive not aggressive, but you and I know that people do not always pause to understand. Perhaps especially because Canada is known as a land of pacifists, I think that within each of us burns a certain articulation that every story has two parts and that perspective holds insights to many issues that plague our world views. That is, in short, there are no definitive “bad guys” and “good guys” except thinking that makes it so. Too difficult for a six year old to ponder, perhaps.
My 4 year old is a bit more pragmatic—she says with the blitheness of a child who has known security, warmth and love all the days of her life: if they are fighting, they should stop. And perhaps that reason holds more truth than all the rationalizations put together. Now, Elena is by no means a peacekeeper. She is an inherent fighter—one who is too stubborn for her own good “I want to do it! Myself! But you have to help me Right Now!” And we always have to remind her to be gentle, to have patience, to think before she acts. But impetuousness is in her nature and I pray that she will always know her own mind and be not afraid to speak it.It is difficult times we live in, you and I.
So, here I sit, typing in a land of ice and cold, where the snow is drifting tonight, softly coating the streets. It has been a late snowfall this year, the snow only falling within the last few weeks. We were fortunate enough to miss the snow on Halloween and the kids were able to stay out much longer because of the milder temperatures. But now the snow has arrived and with it, the dangers of black ice, forgetful drivers who have forgotten how to maneuver their vehicles over snow packed roadways, and children who underestimate the perils of walking, the chill of the wind, the numbness of the skin two minutes after exposure.
The holiday music is playing softly, the babies are blissfully asleep, and I, tired from long days and short nights, cringing from the uncertainty of the government, the frailty of the economy and the sharp concerns of the daily niggling details, feel the fullness of the moment and breathe a prayer of thanks and relief. One more day I have been granted and so we go.
I suppose that I should have allowed her the latitude to believe that war was always something that was perpetrated by “bad people” and that the people who were “good” were the ones who would always be the ones defending the world against their evil crimes. But I didn’t know where to draw the line between what makes people “good” and other people “bad”.
You see, we are always lecturing the kids to stand up for themselves—Julia is a bit of a passive aggressive type—the kid who would get pushed and rather than push back or defend herself against mean comments, would cry and then plot some exacting revenge. Anyway, we are constantly at the kids to stick up for themselves—to tell people when they are uncomfortable with the status quo, to stand up for those who are unwilling or unable to stand up for themselves.
And so I think that having clear cut ideas of what makes people “good” and “bad” opens up a kettle of fish—by shoving a bully back when she has been pushed down, she has now opened herself up to the accusation of being the aggressor, the continuer of the conflict. From the outside looking in, I guess without any context, she could be seen as a bad person for engaging in aggressive behavior. Of course, it takes understanding to see why she has done what she has and that her behavior should be characterized as defensive not aggressive, but you and I know that people do not always pause to understand. Perhaps especially because Canada is known as a land of pacifists, I think that within each of us burns a certain articulation that every story has two parts and that perspective holds insights to many issues that plague our world views. That is, in short, there are no definitive “bad guys” and “good guys” except thinking that makes it so. Too difficult for a six year old to ponder, perhaps.
My 4 year old is a bit more pragmatic—she says with the blitheness of a child who has known security, warmth and love all the days of her life: if they are fighting, they should stop. And perhaps that reason holds more truth than all the rationalizations put together. Now, Elena is by no means a peacekeeper. She is an inherent fighter—one who is too stubborn for her own good “I want to do it! Myself! But you have to help me Right Now!” And we always have to remind her to be gentle, to have patience, to think before she acts. But impetuousness is in her nature and I pray that she will always know her own mind and be not afraid to speak it.It is difficult times we live in, you and I.
So, here I sit, typing in a land of ice and cold, where the snow is drifting tonight, softly coating the streets. It has been a late snowfall this year, the snow only falling within the last few weeks. We were fortunate enough to miss the snow on Halloween and the kids were able to stay out much longer because of the milder temperatures. But now the snow has arrived and with it, the dangers of black ice, forgetful drivers who have forgotten how to maneuver their vehicles over snow packed roadways, and children who underestimate the perils of walking, the chill of the wind, the numbness of the skin two minutes after exposure.
The holiday music is playing softly, the babies are blissfully asleep, and I, tired from long days and short nights, cringing from the uncertainty of the government, the frailty of the economy and the sharp concerns of the daily niggling details, feel the fullness of the moment and breathe a prayer of thanks and relief. One more day I have been granted and so we go.
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