My oldest son likes to dance. Ever since his sister started dancing, he wanted to dance too. Two years later, when he was old enough, we signed him up. He danced for a year. Sometimes he loved it, sometimes he didn't, but he danced. Then he danced this summer for a week with his best friend. Today he started classes again.
Zane was shy at first, hesitant, the only boy in a roomful of girls. His bright red tranformers t-shirt and brown khaki shorts stood out among a room of pale blue leotards and even paler pink tights. He hesitated, needed extra hugs, before settling in among a roomful of strangers. He participated, almost skeptically. Leaning back, watching the room around him, deciding if that particular exercise was for him or not. The moms outside exchanged names and laughed at this boy, so little and yet so decided in his personality. Then he settled, engaged and the sun came out.
My son has a grin that can light a room. They all do, but his shines with all of his mischief and a laugh that can go on forever. The dancers shook their limbs out and I saw Zane shake his sillies in. From outside I could see that giggle start to form as his head wobbled from side to side. The sillies stayed inside, but he danced full-bodied.
The little boy dancer isn't a common sight in the hallowed studios of dance. At least not this one. There are other male dancers there, just not many. Zane didn't dance quietly like one being forced. He put all of his energy and zest for life into his movement. I don't know how long he'll dance, if the pressures of peers will disuade him eventually. But for today, he danced and it was oh so sweet!