Strict Masters

When I was a little girl, not yet five years old, my mother enrolled me into dance classes. The teacher was a rather intimidating Russian man, heavy set. He taught his lessons in the old fashioned way – with discipline. I rather doubt I was ever destined for the stage, but dance became a great passion as I was growing up and I spent many, many hours every week taking lessons, attending rehearsals and sometimes, performing.

His teaching methods were highly controversial with many of the mothers and one by one I found that girls were not returning to class. Their mothers did not approve. It was not that he ever did anything all that unusual; it was that they did not want their daughters being hauled over the coals when they made mistakes.

As I grew older, certain mothers would ask my opinion. What was happening in class, exactly? I had a great deal of difficulty understanding what all the fuss was about. Sure, he yelled at us, and stopped the music endlessly, and made us do it again, over and over, until he was satisfied, but that was normal, wasn’t it?

One day, he had us sit in a little huddle about him, and he said he wanted to give out a prize. He had a beautiful book of dance in his hand and he gave a little talk about perseverance and high standards and such, and he said that he wanted to give the book to the girl who had tried the hardest – Vesta!

I don’t think I had ever been more surprised in my life. I never expected such a thing, and I was quite overwhelmed. I don’t know why it should be today that I should remember that day, but I was down at the gym laying on a mat doing exercises this morning when the lovey memory sprung into my head.

I remember him with great fondness. One day, when I was in my mid to late teens, I was shopping in a department store, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was him. He was smiling so proudly.

“Look at you, Vesta! You look so grown up. You look so pretty!”

I was delighted that he was delighted. His heart was always in the right place. He strove for excellence and to those who accepted his instruction, he was very kind.

It didn’t do me one scrap of harm being under his tutelage. A few more strict masters in my childhood might have done me the world of good, actually. At least, that is what my husband tells me!