Today I dropped my four-and-half-year-old daughter Lizzie off at the first day of an arts camp for March break. The camp's focus is on art and dance and creativity. I thought it would be a good fit for my daughter, who loves pretty much anything to do with art. But, as I’ve discovered through the years, just because a child enjoys an activity, it doesn’t’ mean she’ll necessarily enjoy “the activity” you actually enroll her in.
Flashback: My daughter Lizzie is dancing around the house in her leotard. She is pretending to be a ballerina. She is pleading for us to sign her up for ballet lessons. We enrol her in said ballet class. After one class, she refuses to step through the dance studio door ever again.
So, this morning, on our way to arts camp, I am wondering how Lizzie will react to a new setting and new teachers. A bit shy at first, she greeted one of the teachers with only a half peek out from behind my legs. “Do you prefer to be called Elizabeth or Lizzie?” the teacher asked. Silence. But then Lizzie saw the art teacher gathering supplies, moving coloured paper onto a table, and carrying a case of craft materials across the room. Lizzie's eyes lit up, and her smile grew far beyond the corners of her mouth. She moved out to the side of me, and said in a confident voice, “Lizzie, please,” she said.
That was it. Shyness gone. Reluctance replaced with pure anticipation and excitement. Within seconds, Lizzie joined the opening circle, keen to get involved. And as I left Lizzie smiled at me and waved goodbye.
That image of her will stick with me. Because once more my daughter has reminded me of something important: That when we find an activity we love to do, it brings out something inside of us that shines, it gives us courage where we may not have had it before, and we dive into our experiences with energy and enthusiasm.
As adults, we should all be so lucky to experience or discover this kind of passion.
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