Why Little Girls in Pink Tutus Always Make Me Cry

The Panama night is balmy and seductive as I slip my two tickets to Copillia into my evening bag, noting that I rarely dress up for an evening out. A production of this classical Ballet was suggested by a young Russian woman in the gym who I am getting to know. She assured me that the National Ballet of Panama was excellent! With that in mind, I invited my dear Italian Ayurvedic massage therapist, his wife and two little girls to accompany us.

A Night at the Ballet … memories of Lincoln Center … a thousand nights at the ballet in New York City during my twenties. Why is Ballet such a passion for me, given that I have great compassion for the payout dancers must make to train their bodies at this level? But as the curtain goes up, the troupe of young men and women dance before my eyes in costumes that glitter with enchantment, creating a spell to the early music of Leo Delibes, Tchaikovsky, and many others. The sheer grace of the dancing stars is familiar this night as the curtain raises like a full moon erupting from the ocean.

To my delight and surprise, the two- and four-year-old daughters of my friends became the focus of my attention along with the dancers on the stage. The two-year-old had been preparing for this night with mommy and daddy by watching YouTube productions of Swan Lake with her big sister. She was dressed in sheer pink, so that her movements, as she mimicked the ballerinas in the space between the first row and the stage, were spell-binding. Tears poured from my eyes as I took in both the little one and the highly trained dancers on the stage.

I felt her pure oneness with the performance. She was the Star of her own stage! Light poured from her eyes and she never missed a moment of the evening though way past her bedtime. Her Papa smiled his love upon her as he protected his little ballerina… her occasional rushes into his arms for reassurance were so human, precious, and vulnerable.

Wouldn’t we all like to have our Papa’s arms to rush into for reassurance? Wouldn’t we all like to be wearing our long gauzy gown or pink tutu to a night out with parents who adored us? Wouldn’t we all love to be mesmerized by the lights, the smell of the greasepaint, the roar of the crowd? Wouldn’t we all like to have felt so loved?

It’s never too late … never too late… never too late, I say.

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Let’s Dance, xoxo Carolina