The ballet teacher of steel

A stream of little ballerinas in blue satin tutus deployed onto the stage like spilled water, and came to a full stop in an uneven line. Then, while some of them seemed to be voting on what to do next, others started spinning around. If you've ever kicked over an anthill, you'd had the aerial view.

From where I sat, it was easy to pick out my daughter Marie, who was six at the time. She was the one who was scratching her head at every pause.

"She looks like she's trying to think," I whispered to my wife Betsy.

"Her bobby-pins are bothering her," she replied.

"Where's Marie?" her little sister Sally blurted over and over. Although blessed with an alert mind and keen eyesight, at age three, Sally had never yet managed to see anything that was being pointed to by an adult. I was usually willing to explore this phenomenon with her at length, but I was concentrating on the big sister.

Despite her scratching, Marie was adorable as she carefully stepped and hopped through the paces that she'd demonstrated for me in our kitchen. Her studied movements were mostly independent of the music, but then so were those of anyone else below the age of eight. As happens whenever I detect earnestness in one of my kids, my eyes misted over.

Miss Janet's students were presenting the 15th annual year-end extravaganza of her school, The Swan Lake Ballet Center. I was there, of course, to experience the heart-swelling pleasure of seeing my little angel tiptoe around onstage and to show support for her efforts at something more demanding than watching TV.

Marie had been thinking of quitting ballet after that first year. Miss Janet is a tough cookie and maybe a little too tough for Marie. Like her father, Marie tends to wither in the face of toughness and generally believes: When the tough get going, the smart stand aside. But in preparing for the big recital, Marie had been inspired by the skills of the more advanced students, and agreed to re-enlist.

For many years Miss Janet has been taking clumsy tikes and turning them into adroit dancers, as evidenced by her year-end shows. The performers range from little beginners who reel like drunks, to seasoned teenagers who move like Broadway professionals. Miss Janet teaches her girls the pride of accomplishment with one hand while fending off undisciplined parents with the other. And apparently we need a lot of fending-off.

A week before her annual show, Miss Janet issues a formidable body of rules for parents to obey. Here's an excerpt: "...New regulation: Because we have hired a professional videotaping firm to film the show this year, there will be no video cameras permitted at the performance..." and she notes that there had been "…complaints at previous performances that video photographers have been disturbing other viewers. Please do not force us to confiscate your cameras at the door!" Hey, wait a minute! Can she do that? Physically I reckon she could; I've seen her dance and her slender body is like spring steel. But legally?

Other rules cover the dress rehearsal: If you want to watch, sit way in the back and shut up. (Her wording is more elegant, but no less firm.) "We need their complete attention," she says.

She closes with: "Please do not attempt to change the rules or to put any of our adult volunteers in a compromising situation. Any conflicts will result in dismissal from the Ballet Center."

The first half of each dance concert is ballet, the second half is jazz dance. At intermission of that first show, I said to Betsy, "Okay, let's get Marie and go." But I had failed to read Miss Janet's sheet of regulations "in its entirety" as its heading had directed. Midway down the page it said, "ABSOLUTELY NO ONE WILL BE DISMISSED AT INTERMISSION!... There will be no EXCEPTIONS."

Luckily this applied only to ballet students and not to members of the audience. Sally and my in-laws were getting restless and walked out before the show resumed. Miss Janet's volunteers saw them go, but made no move to stop them. The bulk of the audience remained, either to see the jazz-dance portion or because their ballerinas were somewhere backstage, literally held incommunicado. ("Parents and guests will not be permitted in the dressing area until the conclusion of the entire show.") Plainly put, it was a hostage situation, orchestrated by Miss Janet to provide her jazz dancers with a full audience. Again, the tough ballet mistress was running roughshod over sensitive legal ground. But like a thirsty gunslinger, you have to surrender something at the door before you belly up to the barre.

I'm sure Miss Janet is much harder on parents than she is on her students. But ballet is not T-ball, and Miss Janet requires her girls to measure up, too.

When I was a kid, I shrank from that kind of seriousness. But I'm glad that Marie wants a place in Miss Janet's rugged little enclave of achievement. As Miss Janet invariably says in her annual speech before the curtain opens: "Discipline can be a good friend."

Although Discipline and I have never really been CLOSE friends, the deeper I get into fatherhood, the more I respect it.