Dance of the Helicopter Mommies

Last Saturday, my daughter attended her first "class" in her short three year old life. Up until this point, we have not had the opportunity to attend "classes," mostly because classes for preschoolers are usually scheduled during the work day, clearly geared toward stay at home mothers. However, one dance studio in town has a three year old dance class on Saturdays and I signed my daughter up.

The hour long class is 20 minutes of ballet, 20 minutes of tumbling, and 20 minutes of tap. I knew she would love the tumbling and I thought she could use the ballet and tap because she is not the most coordinated child in the world. Plus, she is a true girly-girl and loves anything girly. And, man . . . is this G-I-R-L-Y. The entire place is painted pink. My daughter was one of the few girls not wearing a pink leotard and tights (her leotard is lavender). The tap shoes are shiny black with big black ribbon bow ties. It is so cute . . . it brought back all of the girly tendencies from my childhood.

Anyway, this being my first experience of a child class as a parent, I was curious to see how the other parents behaved. I was excited for my daughter and found myself a little anxious as well. What if she didn’t listen to the teachers? What if she wouldn’t participate? What if she got scared? Was I pushing too hard by taking her to a class at three years old? Would the other girls be mean? Would the teachers be mean?

I brought the camera, knowing I should document this like a good parent would. As we sat in the waiting room with the other mini-ballerinas and their parents, my daughter got very quiet. She sat on my lap and just looked at the other kids. But when the teachers came to get her class, she went willingly with them and sat nicely with all the other girls.

Parents are supposed to stay in the waiting room, which is separate from the dance room. I was disappointed because I wanted to watch her a little bit to see how she would do in the beginning. I soon learned why the school wants parents to be separated from their children.

Helicopter Mommies.

But first, about me and my kid. I stood in the doorway at the beginning of class and snapped a few pictures. I admit, a got a little tear in my eye watching her do this on her own. She was so sweet and cute and a pretty good listener. The ballet part was first, which involved learning first position and some steps from that position. What struck me was how weird it is to see your children exhibit behavior that you recognize as your own. Flash! There I was - watching myself 34 years ago.

During the ballet portion, she was semi-compliant, but mostly just looked around and watched the other girls. She looked at them like, "Seriously? You want me to do what?" She didn’t resist when the teachers moved her feet to the right position, but she wasn’t willingly doing the steps either. She glanced at me a few times and gave me a half-smile, as if to say, "What have you done to me, woman?" It was like mini-me from gymnastics at the YWCA in 1975.

After a few moments, I sat down in the waiting room. I checked on her two other times - once during tumbling and once during tap. She really came alive during tumbling and loved it, as well as tap. She was even able to march in step with the music with her tap shoes on. I was so proud (although I will hide the tap shoes at home - that's the last thing we need.)

OK - now back to the Helicopter Mommies.

As I was standing in the doorway snapping my pictures, I became aware of a presence behind me. Close up behind me stood three or four other mothers trying to press their way into the room. I took my pictures and stepped back, figuring they wanted pictures of this occasion as well. As I left, the other mothers took their positions. Their permanent positions in the doorway. One mother sat on the floor in the doorway and watched her child the entire class. Another mother kneeled next to the doorway and also watched. The third leaned against the doorway and watched as well.

What shocked me was the look on their faces. They didn’t look proud or nostalgic or happy or anything like I thought I had looked. They looked analytical and stressed. They looked like they were taking mental notes on every move their daughters made. They looked like they would make their daughters practice at home if they screwed up at class. They looked like this was the freaking Olympics of dance. And they all manned their positions for the entire hour-long class. (Except one kept talking on her cell phone . . . what the hell is that about?)

I feel sorry for those little girls whose mothers are so concerned with their performance in a three year old’s dance class. Sure, I want my kids to be good at things and want to excel at whatever they are doing. But at three years old? This is supposed to be fun, right?