A kind of test

Like many 4-year-olds, Cleo likes sticks, mud, sweets, and the idea of gum. And she's also in a solid majority of 4-year-old girls in showing an interest in ballet - which is why, a few months ago, I sent an e-mailed a terrific former student who once danced, before arriving at art school, with the New York City Ballet company. Hey, I wondered, any chance you'd like to give a brief weekly lesson in ballet and its history, or in movement more generally, to my little girl?

Yes, came the answer, and soon we were setting up a regular Wednesday rendezvous. Typically, it's consisted of some stretching, some brief technical education - spotting, for instance - and then some creative dancing, with Tchaikovsky in the background. Cleo was thrilled, initially, by the barre, but she has also embraced some of the formal pieces of etiquette: the reverence, for example, that closes each session. And, in turn, my student has really shone, developing thematic exercises that illustrate particular points while also challenging Cleo to think creatively: against the music of Swan Lake, for instance, Cleo was asked to mimic various birds, and on another day she danced around a pretend fairy garden that was composed of tiny Christmas tree lights.

But behind the whimsical facade stands, always, an insistent respect for the history of dance. After all, Cleo's teacher reminds us, her teachers were forbidding former Soviet matrons, and ballet has always been work, as well as fun. In the wake of one class, then, came a wonderful e-mail, full of supplemental information about Swan Lake. It included a link to a video of one of Cleo's teachers favorite dancers, Diana Vishneva, in the role of the swan. And then it also included this pertinent observation on Swan Lake: "It's also sort of a marathon for the main dancer as she is in all three acts and must play two roles: Odette, the good swan, and Odile, the evil swan... In Russia they say a ballerina's first Swan Lake is a kind of test to see if she can handle being a prima ballerina because it's such a difficult role."

I love it: casual and informal, but also pointedly intelligent. And, at the same time, wholly relevant. Because, if you think about it, 4-year-olds are always undergoing kinds of tests, of various sorts. Can you nap without having an accident? Can you run as fast as Mary Anne? Can you climb the spiraling piece of equipment on the playground? The outcomes, of course, don't always matter very much - in the end, everyone passes, in their own way. But being 4, just like being 44, is full of small contests and incidental revelations about one's own place in a larger world.

Which is why it was fun to see Cleo dig in and try some new things on our recent Texas jaunt. Above, you can see her slowly sliding down the twisting spiral on the playground. But what you don't see is her announcing, in a large hot tub south of town, that "I can do this" as she set out to swim about six feet with no flotation equipment of any sort. And then, having done it, rising up on the opposite stair with a huge, proud smile on her face, and returning to the other side, again, and again.

Being 4 is not exactly a difficult role at most times; it's filled, as far as I can tell, with wonderful props and magical moments. But it can also be, like the role of the prima ballerina in Swan Lake, something of a marathon. And so, at moments, it's worth enjoying the small victories along the way.