REAL BALLERINA

Kathy Nussbaum

A couple of years ago, I drove my son to the Richmond Ballet School of Dance for a school activity. On my way out of the building, I passed a door with a window, behind which I heard the muffled sound of a piano playing classical music. I looked in and saw a group of little girls in pink tights and ballet slippers lined up at the ballet barre.

I felt a wave of sadness that took me by surprise. By the time I reached my car, I was crying. Not until I saw that room full of little girls doing pliés did I remember how much I had longed as a child to become a ballerina.

I used to take the "B" volume of our World Book encyclopedia and find the ballet section. The well-worn, dog-eared pages showed the basic positions for ballet instruction complete with illustrations that I recall vividly. I practiced them for hours pretending that I was a real ballerina. I pretended in the way that only a child is able to do . . . with unabashed and complete surrender to the power of my imagination . . . the kind that completely encompasses one’s being and makes time stand still. That was how I danced.

Despite my unwavering belief that I was performing graceful pirouettes and jetés, the average onlooker no doubt saw an ordinary six-year-old girl with arms and legs flailing about, spinning and jumping all over an imaginary stage—accompanied by vinyl recordings of classical ballet scores, bought by my mother with Green Stamps and played gloriously on our 1964 console stereo.

But I was lucky enough to have a Benefactress who, unlike the average onlooker, believed fully in my imaginary world. Her name was Ruth Hummel. She was the equivalent of a doting granny. Ruth was no blood relation and had no children of her own, so she claimed us (my brothers, sister, and me) as her own. No grandparent or auntie, or parent for that matter, could have worshiped me more than Ruth did.

A registered nurse standing at about four feet, eleven inches, Ruth was part adult, part child, part Mary Poppins. Ruth thought I was the most amazing and beautiful ballerina ever born. She would ask me time and again, in all sincerity and earnestness, to please dance for her. I can still see her smiling broadly and bouncing gently to the music’s rhythm as she tirelessly watched me perform "Swan Lake," "Giselle," "Sleeping Beauty," and the "Nutcracker Suite."

Throughout my childhood, my imagination and play fortified and comforted me. Ruth was both interested in and accepting of my imaginary machinations. Because she never treated them as if they were silly or childish, she became a trustworthy playmate who was privy to my inner world.

I was really a princess from a foreign land temporarily staying at 305 West 25^th Street, and Ruth and I were frequent guests on the Mike Douglas Show, filmed in my living room. There we answered lots of important questions very intelligently, finishing off the appearance with me singing the proverbial ballad into a hair brush.

I am now 47 and never actually took ballet lessons (or appeared on Mike Douglas). But sometimes I feel as if I really know what it is like to be a ballerina, as if I have actually danced "Swan Lake" with Mikhail Baryshnikov in Russia, or England, or New York. I often dream I am a ballerina and my body is moving fluidly and gracefully across a stage.

Maybe I was a ballerina in a previous life, or perhaps these are memories from the collective unconscious. More likely, the power of my imagination as a child, along with the help and witness of my benefactress, was potent enough to create what can only be described as a "virtual" memory.

I grew up to be a child and play therapist. I have treated hundreds of children over the last 20 years, and I often think of Ruth when I am working. The power of a child’s imagination coupled with helpful, appropriate mirroring from a caring adult is at the core of the healing relationship.

As I sit with an eight-year-old, I watch him put on a knight’s costume. With a pretend sword, he kills the bad monsters, saving the good ones. I reflect back to him, "You are so brave and strong! You saved everyone!"

Without directly talking about being violated by an older step brother, over time this little boy is experiencing reparation. Just as Ruth’s presence in my virtual experience of ballet is permanent, I hope that this child and I are co-creating a lasting, virtual memory of him as a knight: strong, brave, and full of goodness.

The tears that came when I saw those precious, little girls in the ballet class were tears of sentimental recollection. The were tears triggered by the adult, bittersweet "memories" of flying down the stairway of our row house (inspired by the televised airing of Mary Martin in "Peter Pan" in the early 1960s), of having once been a real ballerina and a real princess, and of Ruth’s unconditional delight in everything I did.

Ruth joined me in my imaginary world, and in doing so she mirrored back the goodness that she saw in me. My very being was inextricably shaped by her amazing presence in my early life. Despite her physical death seven years ago at age 85, she remains permanently part of the magic of my childhood—and my memories of being a real ballerina.

—Kathleen Zehr Nussbaum is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker, Internationally Certified Child and Play Therapist, and clinical supervisor. In 2007, Kathy wrote, illustrated, and self published a short story for adult women that celebrates the Feminine Divine. Kathy lives with her husband Phil and sons Zachary and Jacob in Mechanicsville, Virginia. Kathy welcomes your thoughts and feedback at Knussbaum11057@comast.net.