My dad was an elementary school teacher for over thirty years, raised five kids, and taught dance every single night. Regardless of the fact that dance was an important part of our daily life, no one stepped a foot in the studio if their grades weren’t satisfactory. My brothers didn’t dance, so this did not impact them. The studio represented a playground, where they rode their bikes in circles on bad weather days. It is where they set up the ping pong table, and many tournaments ensued. It was the same ping pong table where our huge, extended Italian family gathered for holiday meals. My sister was the family brain, so I have no recollection of her missing any dance classes due to academic failures. However, yours truly, was on the receiving end of these consequences. It only took once to never happen again.

When I reached high school, my dad thought it would be a great idea to send me to the local girls Catholic high school. I was adamantly opposed. But at fourteen, I did not get a vote. Off I went, with my ugly uniform, and attempted to make the best of it. I was a good girl. A rule follower. My grades throughout my freshman year were satisfactory, but my sophomore year……oh, dear. I took two state regents exams that spring, and when we received the grades in the mail, my father almost had a coronary. Abysmal. Disastrous. This was not the norm. There were extenuating circumstances for this speed bump in my academic journey, but to wax on about that would only sound like excuses. Suffice to say, I knew I was headed for trouble, and my fatal mistake was I did not ask for help.

Remember, less than satisfactory grades meant NO dance. It was excruciating. I spent the entire summer at the public high school taking two courses. Not a step of dance, no summer workshops, nada, zippo. I was miserable. I literally had approximately three hours of homework per night for a six week period. Of course, the goal was to retake the regents exams. I did. I brought those grades up about thirty points. Better late than never, right?

I recently shared this story with a friend. When I told her how my summer ended, she asked if my father had planned it that way all along. I don’t know the answer to that. All I do know is I had absolutely no idea I was to be rewarded for my efforts in a very big way. My dad approached me and asked, would you like to go to NYC for a week, with your mom and sister, and study at the American Ballet Theater summer dance program. Is the Pope Catholic??!! Needless to say, I was stunned, thrilled, and had the pointe shoes in my bag before he changed his mind!! That week solidified my desire to become a professional dancer. It confirmed for me I was on the right chosen career path. My dad never dangled that carrot in front of me. But he was a very fair man. The message was loud and clear, I hope you have learned an invaluable lesson, Debra. I had to put the academic work in because it was necessary to do so. I was college bound. I was going to get an education. That was the primary focus in our household. My friend asked, what if your regents grades hadn’t improved? Would that golden week in NYC actually happen? Of course, we’ll never know the answer to that.

At some point, before my junior year began, I had a very brave moment. I went to my dad and pleaded my case. Please let me go to the public high school. I did not want to return to the Catholic high school. He needed me to understand the expectations if he allowed me to make this change. I learned so much about myself that summer. I learned what I was capable of, I learned that it’s okay to ask for help when you need it. I also learned that dance was so deeply rooted in my soul. I would never take that detour again. The whole point was bringing those grades up. I desperately wanted to, and the sense of accomplishment I felt was worth it. I am truly grateful I had no idea that NYC was to be my amazing bonus. My dad really listened to me, and said yes to the public high school. I don’t think either of us have ever regretted that decision.