Music Box Dancer
Stories
56 Stories For Preaching
David stared at the music box nostalgically as his sister held it out to him. "I want you to have it, David. My special gift to you." He took it from her hands, and opened the lid, fascinated again as the ballerina and her partner rose and fell and twirled to a tune neither of them had recognized the Christmas Sarah had gotten it.
David had always loved to dance. At two, he amused his parents, hopping and bouncing in front of the stereo, to any song on the air. At five, he would swing his arms propeller fashion, twirling until he fell over, dizzy, but filled with exhilaration. At seven, he had seen his first musical, and he came home enchanted. He wanted dance lessons.
He had been lucky. His father saw in him another Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly. They went to see the Bob Fosse dancers, and when they saw the movie Tap, David's father had helped him fasten shiny taps to his shoes, so he could try out the street rhythms, the way Gregory Hines had. When they heard of the School of the Arts, he also landed a scholarship, so he could study, worry- free.
He had been talented. His teachers said he had the makings of a fine dancer, and encouraged him to work hard. He'd worked too hard, had to go through rehab, wear special wrappings, stretch daily to keep his muscles and tendons relaxed. Had to practically start over, but he worked, gently. Carefully.
He had been chosen. Chosen to attend the best ballet school. Chosen by a great dancer for the rare privilege of studying in her small classes, three times a week. Chosen to be an understudy at the Metropolitan Ballet. Chosen for the Royal Ballet, for a new work. His star had risen. Everything he had ever wanted, ever hoped for, had chosen him. He was still dancing when the requests began to come in for him to teach, to mentor, to guide young men into realizing their potential in the arts, in the dance.
Which was what had led him back to this stage, this night, this performance. He had come back to his junior high to give a performance, to show boys like he had been that dancing might be for them. His sister had met him back stage, holding out the music box, and saying, "It should have been yours, really, all along. You were the one who loved the music, loved the dance. Remember? We didn't even know what the tune was!" They laughed together, forehead to forehead, listening to the tune from Swan Lake, the most popular of ballets.
David waited for the curtain to rise, remembering the interview with the newspaper reporter earlier that day. "Didn't anybody ever tease you, as a boy, about your love of the dance? I can't believe you were never a target for name calling." He laughed again as he recalled his answer: "Oh, yes, one boy once called me a fairy, and I said, 'Oh, I wish I were a fairy! I'd just spread my wings and fly.' "
David had always loved to dance. At two, he amused his parents, hopping and bouncing in front of the stereo, to any song on the air. At five, he would swing his arms propeller fashion, twirling until he fell over, dizzy, but filled with exhilaration. At seven, he had seen his first musical, and he came home enchanted. He wanted dance lessons.
He had been lucky. His father saw in him another Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly. They went to see the Bob Fosse dancers, and when they saw the movie Tap, David's father had helped him fasten shiny taps to his shoes, so he could try out the street rhythms, the way Gregory Hines had. When they heard of the School of the Arts, he also landed a scholarship, so he could study, worry- free.
He had been talented. His teachers said he had the makings of a fine dancer, and encouraged him to work hard. He'd worked too hard, had to go through rehab, wear special wrappings, stretch daily to keep his muscles and tendons relaxed. Had to practically start over, but he worked, gently. Carefully.
He had been chosen. Chosen to attend the best ballet school. Chosen by a great dancer for the rare privilege of studying in her small classes, three times a week. Chosen to be an understudy at the Metropolitan Ballet. Chosen for the Royal Ballet, for a new work. His star had risen. Everything he had ever wanted, ever hoped for, had chosen him. He was still dancing when the requests began to come in for him to teach, to mentor, to guide young men into realizing their potential in the arts, in the dance.
Which was what had led him back to this stage, this night, this performance. He had come back to his junior high to give a performance, to show boys like he had been that dancing might be for them. His sister had met him back stage, holding out the music box, and saying, "It should have been yours, really, all along. You were the one who loved the music, loved the dance. Remember? We didn't even know what the tune was!" They laughed together, forehead to forehead, listening to the tune from Swan Lake, the most popular of ballets.
David waited for the curtain to rise, remembering the interview with the newspaper reporter earlier that day. "Didn't anybody ever tease you, as a boy, about your love of the dance? I can't believe you were never a target for name calling." He laughed again as he recalled his answer: "Oh, yes, one boy once called me a fairy, and I said, 'Oh, I wish I were a fairy! I'd just spread my wings and fly.' "
