Another life

I've been thinking of my "past life". When I think of it, it baffles me. The two, my life past and present, are worlds apart. One would think they belonged to two different people. As I look backward I say, "Was that me?" But I bet if I had known where I'd be at today, my other self would look forward to this this laundry-doing, dishwashing, Mother of 3 and say, "Is that me?"
Madame Clair, with a long blonde braid down her back, always the same clothes, a black long sleeved shirt and black culotte pants, and of course her teaching shoes. A shoe like a Ballet slipper, but with a heel. I still think of her. I have met many people, and had many life experiences, and yet she still has made a lasting impression on my life. One time I saw a picture of her when she was a Ballerina. She was so beautiful and so slim. When she taught us, she had filled out. Yet she still had a graceful air about her.
And why do I think of her? Because she cared, underneath a strict and matronly front. I remember one time she called me into her office. I was scared, because they could send you home at any time in the year for any reason, if they didn't like your feet, if you'd gained weight, missed classes, if they'd realized you didn't have what it took to be a dancer. Trepidaciously I went into her office. She sat me down and asked me if I was okay.
I actually lied to her! I told a half truth, that I was just tired because I had a new kitten who was up all night playing. The real truth is that I was learning the hard realities of life. My dreams that I'd had since I was a child of being a Ballet dancer were looking impossible. I had worked ceaselessly. When most teens were thinking of boys, clothes, make-up, parties, and the like, I was thinking of dance, dance, dance. And now after all those years of working to be the best by stretching, exercising, taking class after class, studying on my own, sacrificing other activities I wished to do just so I could invest all my time to my art form, I was discouraged by various cutting, harsh teachers.
And why? Was it because I didn't work hard enough, or didn't have abilities or aptitude? No. It was because I was short.
I often wonder if I should have opened up and told her the truth. What would she have said? I also wonder, had I been emotionally stronger at the time, if I could have proven some of those teachers wrong. I wonder if I could have found a job somewhere, despite my height. But that is all in the past. At that point, I had a growing love for my modern class (and it loved me!!) and so I put the hurt aside and went forward in a different path. I do not regret switching to modern, when I was so close to my previous dream. I have had such fulfillment from it. In a sense, I think it is a better fit for me.
Though I do not know where Madame Clair is, or what she is doing, I still think of her. I think of her because she treated me with dignity and respect, even though she was my superior. She cared about me personally, even though she was amidst a world in which only the end product mattered. And now, as I am a teacher, I gauge how I treat my students in the light that she shed on me. Will I be able to go through life asking people, "how are you?" And mean it.