“
“Mom. Can I take ballet lessons?”
“Last week you wanted to be an air
hostess for Pan Am because you liked the hats they wore. Remember?” my mother reminds
me, while peeling carrots.
“No, no, no. Not because of the hats.
Because I want to travel—someday. But all I want to do right now is take a ballet class. Not choose a
career.”
“Val, if you want to travel so
much, be a train engineer.” (This from Buddy, my brilliant 14-year-old brother.)
“And you could still wear one of those to-do skirts.”
“It’s a tutu, doofus,” I say in exasperation.
“Right, Princess,” my dad interjects.
“You can do whatever you want, but you are only eleven, or nearly so. You’ve got
a lot of time to think about it.”
Suddenly my mother is pointing her
knife at me across the table. “This is all Katherine Juckett’s idea, isn’t it?
I swear, if that girl was going to join the space program, you’d want to do
that too.”
“Riiight!” My know-it-all brother laughs. “Like girls will ever go into space. I don’t think so.” He pauses. “I know, Val—why don’t you be a bus driver? You could travel and still be home every night for Mom’s delicious cooking.”
“It has nothing to do with Kit,
Mom. And for your information, Buddy, the Russians already sent a woman into
space. Nearly ten years ago.”
My mom is shaking her head. “No,
dear, not ballet. It’s not for you. You are . . . the wrong
body type.”
I’m afraid to know what she
considers the right body type, but she obliges me anyway.
“You are too short. Ballet dancers
have to be about seven feet tall.”
“I think you might be confusing
dancers with basketball players.” My dad grins.
“Geez, Mom, all I wanted was to
take a few ballet classes. I’m not asking to fly a rocket to the moon or try
out for the Bulls.”
“Well, thank goodness for that.” My
mom has returned to her carrots. “What about being a secretary? That’s a nice
job for a young woman.”
***
My mom let me enroll in tap dancing,
which she said would use a lot of energy. But something had apparently made an
impression on her. For my birthday, she made a carrot cake and gave me a jewelry
box lined with pink velvet. Perched inside was a beautiful plastic ballerina. When
I twisted the wind-up key, she began twirling to some lovely old-fashioned music.
She was perfect. And just the right height, about two and a half inches.
Read more about
Val’s ballerina jewelry box in Knowing People, the latest in The
Val & Kit Mystery Series.
