Empty Ballet Shoes

#SOL20: March 3rd

     Here I am, sitting at the dance studio, watching my kid watch other kids dance.  My son lives to dance.  Hip hop and modern and tap and jazz are in his soul.  An open studio and a piece of music is all he needs to take to the rhythm and dance.

    Except when he can't.

    A few weeks ago, he hurt himself jump roping.  It was at recess, and he said his leg hurt.  And it never stopped.  His leaps at dance turned into grimaces.  His routine dance positions now turned into abnormal tears.  What we thought was a sprain turned out to be a stress fracture.   Now here we are, waiting...

    Watching your friends dance as they prepare for recital and competition is frustrating.  Sitting in the corner, watching the girls when you are the only boy, and your part is missing from the dance.  The constant reminders from Mom about what you can't do, and the uncertainty about what you will be able to do, must drive him crazy.

    Then, I look into the studio, and I see him doing the Macarena.  Feet plastered to the ground, but hands going and big smile on his face.  Perhaps this is more painful for me than him.  I suddenly wonder if a stress fracture could possibly hurt less than a mom's worry.  

     For now, his empty dance shoes wait for him as I stare at him as he heals.