This past week, I picked up my Christmas tree. I love putting on the Christmas music and lighting my pumpkin candle, while having some cookies in the oven.
Most of my fellow dancer friends are getting excited about Nutcracker--from the first time they hear the
Sugar Plum Fairy while gliding through the grocery store, the
endless advertisements for a Nutcracker, to the little girls seeing the ballet for the first time--me, I tend to get very melancholy.
For me, this time of year represents something different.
It was 14 years ago that I was poised to dance the Sugar Plum Fairy in the
Nutcracker. Always a coveted role, I was excited and terrified. My dance teacher, Kirk Derby, was also my cavalier. We had rehearsed for months. He was dreading wearing white tights. Always fit and debonair, he was very self conscious and those darn tights is what I know he was least looking forward to wearing. The two of us would meet in the afternoon once I got out of school and rehearse until we both had to teach.
I danced that Nutcracker as a solo.
I received a phone call one night before the performance that Kirk had died. He died many years too early and it's always this time of year that brings him back to me the most.
For Christmas that year, one of the mother's of a student of mine got me a tree as a remembrance of Kirk. My little Christmas tree this year reminds me of that tiny little tree that she gave to me. Now, when I go back to visit my family, that tree is planted at my parents house and has grown much taller than me.
One year during our session for school photos, it was just myself and Dani Snodgrass that showed up for picture day for our routine, Kiss From a Rose. Kirk had such a great sense of humor and our photo ended up being, "Kiss From My Butt". I still have that picture in my teeny apartment, reminding me of him. There are moments from our time together that were paramount in my teenage years. My favorite moments are from our time together in the studio, rehearsing together. Just the two of us, laughing and having a great time.
I can remember walking around backstage at the theatre that year with my dear dance teacher, Kathy Milo, by my side as I cried my little eyes out. She got me through that Nutcracker and I am forever grateful. Having to hold myself together for all my students at the time was one of the most difficult masks I've ever had to wear. I will forever miss his smile, his warm & gentle nature, teaching my mom and I all about "fag hags", the same self doubt that we shared, his tales of cruise ship dancing, his calm demeanor in the classroom. He was my teacher. My friend. My partner.
When I hear those
opening notes of the Grand Pas, I just think of putting my hand in his, the biggest grin on my face and him greeting me with that beautiful smile. I sit here next to my tiny tree thinking of him. I will always miss him.
