A Fond Memory, and Reason to Never Have Children
A Fond Memory, and a Reason to Never Have Children
When Ballet Class Turns Grimm: Tiny Dancers, Big Plot Twists
Teaching ballet at a
primary school is never predictable, but the last day of term is always
especially interesting.
Instead of focusing on
technique and exercises, we usually spend the lesson playing games, improvising
dances, and letting the students be creative. It's one of my favourite classes
of the term because you never know what they're going to come up with.
I definitely do not
want children of my own.
🎶 Setting the Scene
Attendance was low
that day, so we combined the first two classes into one big group of nine
students.
We split them into
groups of three and gave each group the same piece of music. Their task was
simple: create a short dance with a storyline.
Normally, young
dancers come up with sweet little stories. Princesses. Tea parties. Friends
playing in the park. Maybe a superhero adventure if someone's feeling
particularly creative.
The first group did
exactly what I expected.
They pretended they
were playing with balloons in the park, skipping around and twirling happily to
the music. It was adorable.
If only that had set
the tone for the rest of the lesson.
🧺 The Picnic Gone Wrong
The second group began
with what looked like a lovely picnic.
Everyone was happily
eating imaginary sandwiches and enjoying themselves when one dancer suddenly
started acting strangely. The group scattered and the story took a dramatic
turn.
Apparently, one of the
girls had poisoned the food.
Poisoned it.
Naturally, the
solution was to kill her with an axe.
An axe – they
specified.
I would like to remind
everyone that these were tiny ballet students wearing ribbons and smiles while
enthusiastically acting out a revenge murder to cheerful ballet music.
My co-teacher and I
just stared at each other.
Where had this come
from?
Why was poison
involved?
And why was an axe
apparently the obvious answer?
💀 Death Becomes the Theme
After that, we were
hoping the next group would bring us back to safer territory.
They did not.
Their dance was so
confusing that we had to ask what the story was supposed to be.
"Oh," they
explained cheerfully, "everyone died trying to save each other."
Everyone.
Died.
At that point I
realised we might have a theme developing.
We changed the music
and chose something even happier. Surely a bright, upbeat song would encourage
happier storytelling.
It did not.
The next dances also
involved death.
By this point I was
genuinely concerned that another teacher might walk past and wonder what
exactly was happening in ballet class.
Imagine explaining
that to a parent.
"So, what did you
learn today?"
"We poisoned
someone and then everybody died."
Not ideal.
🐺 Enter Little Red Riding HoodJust when I thought
things couldn't get any stranger, the final group announced they would be
performing Little Red Riding Hood.
Finally.
A normal story.
A safe story.
A story I recognised.
Except these children
had apparently discovered the Brothers Grimm version.
The wolf ate Grandma.
The wolf ate Little
Red Riding Hood.
Then a lumberjack
arrived, cut open the wolf, rescued everyone, and filled the wolf's stomach
with rocks so that when he stood up the rocks would pull him down and he, of
course, died.
The girls acted out
every single part with complete confidence.
The snoring wolf.
The rescue.
The rocks.
The dramatic death.
When they finished,
they took a bow and looked immensely proud of themselves.
I honestly didn't know whether to applaud or question every life choice that had led me to that moment.
🩰
What fascinated me
most was how completely normal all of this seemed to them.
There was no shock.
No hesitation.
No awareness that
perhaps poisoning a picnic wasn't what the teachers had in mind.
To them, these were
simply good stories.
Children have an
incredible ability to take random pieces of information from books, films,
conversations, playground games, and who knows where else, and combine them
into something entirely unexpected.
Sometimes that results
in a charming dance about balloons.
Sometimes it results
in multiple murders and a disembowelled wolf.
The creativity is
impressive.
The content is concerning.
🎀 Final Verdict
By the end of the
lesson, I had reached a firm conclusion.
I love teaching
children.
I love their energy,
their imagination, and the way they throw themselves wholeheartedly into every
activity.
But I am also very
happy that, at the end of the day, they go home with their parents.
Because if one ballet
class can turn into a series of poisonings, heroic deaths, and Grimm fairy tale
violence, I can only imagine what living with children full-time must be like.
I'll stick to teaching
ballet, handing out stickers, and being entertained by the chaos from a safe
distance.
Children are
wonderful.
They are creative.
They are hilarious.
✨ Closing Thought
This memory has stayed with me not just because of the shock value, but because it reminded me of the raw, unfiltered nature of children’s creativity. They don’t censor themselves. They don’t worry about what’s “appropriate.” They tell the stories they want to tell, no matter how dark or bizarre. And maybe that’s something adults could learn from. Creativity isn’t always neat or safe. Sometimes it’s messy, unsettling, and a little bit scary. But that’s what makes it powerful.
💬 Have you ever seen children's imagination produce scary results?
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