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Hey all, I read this article in a dance magazine. I thought it was really sweet. It made me cry LOL I know what else is new!







Sometimes it’s not dancing that makes a difference


You never know when something you do will touch the life of another person in a significant way. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years of dancing, it’s that the things you’d least expect to make a difference are the ones that seem to matter the most. I’ll never forget how a split-second decision I made provided comfort to a young girl.

I was in Detroit for a seasonal guest performance of Nutcracker during a hiatus from San Francisco Ballet, where I danced for 23 years. I was frequently mobbed backstage by little girls requesting a pair of my used pointe shoes—autographed, of course. Knowing this, I tried to be prepared with as many pairs as I could pack into my theater case. But that final night in Detroit, sitting in my dressing room packing up to leave, I came up one pair short. A young girl shyly approached me, asking for a pair for her sister who had put “a pair of pointe shoes worn by the Sugar Plum Fairy” on her Christmas list. I told her I had none left, and her face fell, and she stood there looking so disappointed that I felt my heart twinge. I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than a hot bath and bed, but something kept me from brushing this girl off. All I had left were my warm-up shoes—de-shanked and shabby—but on impulse I dug into my ballet bag, pulled them out, and offered them to her. The huge smile that instantly transformed her face brought a smile to mine as well, and I asked for her sister’s name so I could sign the shoes. I don’t remember the name, but I scribbled a note to her and signed it “With love from the Sugar Plum Fairy, Evelyn Cisneros.” The girl hugged and thanked me, and I watched as she nearly danced out of the theater.

I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than a hot bath and bed, but something kept me from brushing this girl off.
I never thought about that girl again, but two years later I was back in Detroit. Once again, after the well-wishers and autograph seekers had left the theater, the same young girl came up to me. She asked if she could speak to me. “Of course,” I told her.

“Do you remember me from when you were here two years ago?” she asked. “You gave me a pair of autographed pointe shoes for my sister, and you gave me the only pair you had left.”

The girl instantly came to mind, and I said that yes, I remembered her.

She continued, “I thought you might like to know how grateful I was that you gave my sister those shoes. She had talked about wanting to ask you for a pair days before the performance. You made her so happy.” The girl paused, and tears came into her eyes. “That night, after I gave her your shoes, she was killed in a car accident. It means so much to me that you made her happy that night. I think about that all the time—how the last night of her life was so special—and I wanted to thank you.”

I had just lost my own cousin, who was my older brother in life, and I held that beautiful little girl in my arms as we shared our tears. She looked me in the eyes and said, “It’s OK—I cried a lot the first year too.”

I don’t remember how—or if—I answered her. But I’ve never forgotten how it wasn’t my dancing that night so many years ago that made a difference in someone’s life—it was that reach into my dance bag for an old, worn-out pair of pointe shoes. That moment was my confirmation that taking time for a child can be life changing, and is really all we have to give.