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My Son's First Dance Class

By Deborah Boehle

"Jonathan, it looked like you were the only boy!" said my 12-year-old. How could I have forgotten to tell her not to say anything? I was so angry at myself, but immediately moved into damage control mode as I saw him look down and start to untie his shoes.

"Are you okay with that, Jonathan?" I asked.

"Yeah," was the nonchalant reply.

Then I got the courage to ask, "How did you like your class?"

"Oh, it was great!" he said.

Great? Had I heard him correctly? What were those pained expressions I had seen? What about the uncomfortable smiles? Great? Great.

He had a great time while I was rapidly moving towards my first-ever, full-blown anxiety attack! But what about that mean little girl?

"Jonathan, I saw a little girl talking to you at the beginning of class. What did she say?"

"Oh, that was Christina. She was in my class last year, and she was just wondering who my teacher was this year."

My heartbeat slowed, my shoulders relaxed. How could I do that to myself? I'm the non-traditional mom who is raising non-sexist children, and yet could there be a tiny bit of sexism lurking somewhere in the cobwebs of my own mind?

My son had his second dance class recently, and as I watched through the window, I saw a young boy who was a little unsure of himself, just like the girls, because they were all learning something new. And when I heard another mom say, "Oh, look, there's a boy in this class," I resisted the urge to say, "Yes, and he's also a purple belt in tae kwon do!"

As much as I want to raise enlightened children who know that women can be doctors and men can be dancers, I now realize how much I still need to be enlightened and exorcise the ghost of sexism from my own mind.