I had a bit of a love|hate relationship with my ballet school.  My competitive nature and eagerness to please could leave me feeling either on cloud 9 – like the day I was the first in my age group to be tapped for the esteemed upgrade to pointe shoes… or in the gutter, like the many times I was passed up for key roles in our annual production of The Nutcracker.

But one of the joys that dancing brought me was the commute.  Growing up in a small town meant that many extracurricular activities required a significant commute, which often resulted in a carpool with other families.  Dance was no exception.  And it may sound crazy, but some of my most memorable dance moments were really centered around the commute.

We carpooled with another family who also had a daughter my age.  I can remember on Friday nights following our evening dance class, and my mom would take us to one of the handful of restaurants on the main commercial stretch between the studio and the highway home.  We each had $3 to spend and would trade off between McDonald’s happy meals, the Ponderosa Grand Buffet (which we always felt the need to mispronounce because we thought we were hilarious) or The Penguin: an old-school diner with incredible homemade chicken noodle soup and chocolate sodas.

There was one trip when my friend and I were in the backseat and my little sister rode shotgun.  Apparently, she was feeling a bit carsick and while we were zooming into town, she started to vomit.  My mom continued driving while frantically rolling down the window on the passenger side so she could throw-up out the window.  The problem was, I was sitting on that same side of the car, and my back window was also open – so as the vomit spewed out her window at a relatively high speed it came spraying into the back window at me.  I couldn’t think fast enough to roll up the window so instead I frantically lunged my body to the opposite side of the car, giggling and climbing on my friend, while my seat belt held me back.

But my favourite memories of the dance commute were when my friend Megan’s family drove us in their minivan.  Their minivan had a CD player, which was pretty top notch in that day.  And through those commutes and that minivan CD player, I discovered the magic of musical theatre, specifically Les Misérables.  They helped narrate the story-line of Victor Hugo’s famous novel and I learned the songs by Claude-Michel Shonberg.  And we didn’t just listen – we became those characters: singing along as Fantine in “I Dreamed a Dream” or Cosette in “Castle on a Cloud.”  We learned what the number: 24601 meant and how unfair it was that Jean Valjean could be sent to jail for stealing a loaf of bread when he was starving…

And the best part was, that everyone – her whole family: mom, dad, sister, Megan and I would chime in.  We were all the rebels, belting out “Do You Hear the People Sing” and crying for revolution.  And from Les Misérables they moved onto Phantom of the Opera and other Andrew Lloyd Weber classics.

But it wasn’t just musicals that we sang – they also taught me folk songs, and the stories behind them.  I remember learning “Where Have All the Flowers Gone” and feeling my first pangs of melancholy…

At one point, my parents took my sister and I to see Les Misérables live on stage. It. Was. Incredible.  They bought me the official concert t-shirt and likely had to give the death stare to other attendees who may not have fully appreciated my sing-along approach to attending the performance.

And my family nurtured and fell in love with musical theatre as well.  My parents bought every 2-disk, official recording of the musicals I grew to love: from Jesus Christ Superstar to Sunset Boulevard; Evita to Rent.  They took me to more theatre rehearsals – as I tried to hone my own talents, and live shows than I could ever count.

But those early days of discovery and singing in the van on the way to dance rehearsal really planted the seed for me.  And I will forever be grateful.  Music – especially live music (whether performed in a professional venue or a family sing-along in the living room) – continues to be one of my biggest sources of joy & emotional release. When Hamilton was taking off as a musical theatre sensation, my own boys got hooked on the soundtrack.  My 7-year-old was a huge fan of King George, even asking if they made Halloween costumes so he could dress up like the king.  And during one especially proud moment, my 2-year-old was crushing the sing-along at the dinner table, hitting the timing and emphasis for “My Shot” during every chorus. 

During the pandemic years, my Facebook feed became transformed with handfuls of large, talented families who were performing their own at-home renditions of many musical theatre hits but especially some of the complex and layered anthems from Les Mis.  Although I continue to inspire (and annoy) my family with show tunes and sing-along requests, we haven’t quite made the main stage (or even a viral social video).  Yet.