One Day Soon

Every Wednesday my youngest daughter

saw her sister and me leave for ballet class

And every Wednesday she would hang on the door

and say she wanted to go.

"But you are not old enough." I would say. "Soon."

"When I'm three?"

"When you are three."

She wants to be older.

She want to rush through the stages.

She sees her sister do it

and she can't understand why she can't

--especially with her overflowing

"if she can, I can!" attitude.

Soon she is three

and she has a good memory

and she won't let me forget it.

So we sign her up for ballet class.

She gets to wear her big sister's

ballet dress

the leotard and tutu combo,

the stretched out thighs

and the worn out shoes.

She couldn't be happier.

She can't wait for class.

When we get to class

and just as my wife suspected

she is not old enough to follow

all the instructions to plie and jete and attache.

Well that last one is a suitcase but you believe me because, let's face it, we don't know French.

I sit down to watch her

with the rest of the parents.

I'm the only one not on my phone.

Apparently, the only one worried

how one day soon

this will all be gone.

She is the youngest in the class

and this ballet class looks less like a ballet class

and more like a silent movie from the twenties

with a lot of slapstick and no dialogue.

If you were to replace

the classical music

with ragtime,

you would believe it was.

The teacher tells her

to twirl right

and she twirls left.

The teacher her tells her

to look left

and she looks right.

The teacher tellers her

to hold first position

and she flops her entire body.

The teacher comes over to her

and tells her to stay in her color dot.

When the teacher turns around and leave

my daughter takes off right behind her

really close

following every step.

When the teacher turns around

to face my daughter

she doesn't know where she is.

But she is right behind her.

And on and on it goes;

every

single

practice.

Then one day

soon

It's is time for the last rehearsal

before spring recital.

The teacher tells her

to twirl right

and she twirls right.

The teacher her tells her

to look left

and she looks left.

The teacher tellers her

to hold first position

and she does.

She has no need

to come over

and tell her to stay still.

And my eyes water.

I haven't missed a single rehearsal.

I have been here with her

I have been present and paying attention

But the hurt stings as much

as if I would've missed it

all;

as if I was never here.

Parents had told me since I had my first daughter,

enjoy it because it won't last

and because people regret it

and because it makes it

into the top the regrets of the dying.

And my baby is growing in front of my eyes.

She is ready for her recital

and soon

she will be ready for everything else

that will take her into the world and away from me.

The night comes and she and her sister

can barely contain their excitement.

They eat very little and run a lot.

She gets into her dress and she looks gorgeous.

The purple bodice is covered in glitter and sparkling sequel.

Her tutu is fluffy

and extends away from her

like a giant Chinese lantern flower.

She has traditional pink tights and shoes

to comply with the teacher's request

and her hair is in a tight ballet bun

and her face has a little blush

from her mom's make up bag.

She looks like a little woman in my baby's body.

Then her time is up

and she has to walk down the aisle up to the stage;

she is distracted by the people and

says hello to everyone she knows

and everyone she doesn't know

And her time to perform is up,

And instead of doing a pile,

she waves at us.

and instead of holding

her premiere position,

she blows kisses.

She can't follow instructions;

and instead of being bother by it,

I'm happy.

Maybe I still have

my baby

for a little more time.

Even if she will stop being that

One day soon.