Behind the Curtain of Teaching Children’s Dance

I pull the studio door closed after ushering in the toddlers. Muffled music leaks into the hallway. Parents wait outside, scrolling their phones. They have no idea what’s going on the other side of the door.

I’ve been teaching children’s dance for over thirteen years. I first started teaching in the UK, and now I do the same in Sweden. My classes are “recreational”, which means I prioritise fun over technical perfection. No competition routines, no drilling eight-year-olds until they cry. Just kids, music, and controlled chaos.

Photo by Jess Zoerb on Unsplash

Parents are curious about what goes on during the forty-five-minute dance class. Although I do keep the door closed (because toddlers love to run to see mum and dad), I also try to keep them updated about how the classes are going. I invite them in for the first and last class of term so they can see their child’s progress. I also explain what the focus is for the term, such as rhythm, balance or coordination. Even so, they miss the day-to-day reality of what goes on in children’s dance classes.

So, here’s what really happens behind that closed door.

1. “I’m first!”

“Come and line up behind me” I call out to the children. They charge towards me shouting “I’m first. I’m first”. This phrase drives me absolutely crazy. I understand that young children are still learning to share and take turns, but some find it harder than others. If I’m not proactive about changing up the order when we skip across the room, it quickly devolves into something that looks like a rowdy bar — elbows out, shoving their way to the front, total chaos. When I spot the same child at the front of the line for the third time that class, I politely ask them to give another child the opportunity to be first. On rare occasions the child steps aside and proudly lets their friend stand in front of them. Other times, it’s a full out tantrum complete with screaming and balled-up fists punching into the air.

2. “I want to sit there!”

Another common occurrence that’s both endearing and maddening, is that way children will squeeze themselves into impossibly small gaps just to be the “lucky one” sitting next to me in the circle. Honestly, it’s the worst place to sit. I’ve been known to trip over kids who stand or sit too close.

Once I’ve got the children sat neatly in a circle, I sometimes have to stand up to grab a prop or fix the music. All hell breaks loose if I return to the circle and sit down in a different spot. Suddenly all the children are crawling around trying to get as close as possible to me — no wonder I catch all the coughs and colds!

3. Losing control

Sometimes they’re just totally feral. There’s no reasoning with twenty preschoolers who’ve collectively decided that running in circles is more fun than pliés. In those moments, I used to try harder to grab their attention. My voice would climb louder as I desperately attempted to wrangle them into a line

Nowadays, I grab a chiffon scarf or a fairy wand and join them.

I put on one of their favourite songs and dance around the room like a sugar-crazed toddler myself. Three minutes of utter chaos. Then as the song comes to an end, they are panting and tired from all the excitement. This is my opportunity to gently guide them towards a calmer activity like clapping rhythms or follow-the-leader.

I used to think those moments with tornados of spiralling kids were failures as a teacher. Now I know that giving in to the madness is sometimes the only way to draw them back in.

4. Toilet breaks

When you work with preschoolers, there’s a very real urgency around toilet breaks. The problem is that when one child asks to go to the toilet, suddenly they’re all desperate. I start sweating, imagining puddles on the studio floor. There are only two toilets in the building, so they have to wait their turn. But when you suddenly have fifteen preschoolers crossing their legs and hopping up and down, all I want to do is sit in the corner and hide under the play parachute.

I wish I could just declare I needed the toilet and leave the room on demand. But no, when I am desperate for the loo, I just have to brace myself and hope the children don’t squeeze too tightly when they hug me goodbye at the end of the class.

5. Language barriers

Kids are skilled at making excuses to leave the room. Usually it’s “I need to tell my mum something.” When I ask what, they shuffle their feet — they have nothing to say, they just want to leave.

But once, a girl kept asking me something in Swedish that I didn’t understand.

“Jag vill snyta mig,” she repeated, increasingly desperate.

I knew it wasn’t the toilet (kiss), wasn’t thirsty (törstig), wasn’t tummy ache (ont i magen) — I’d learned all those phrases. But this? No idea.

I gathered it was not at emergency, but she was persistent. Finally, I gave in and let her see her dad in the hallway. She came back seconds later, completely fine.

She’d needed to blow her nose.

It’s not just pointing toes and hopping around!

Photo by Astrid Schaffner on Unsplash

People think my job is teaching children to point their toes, but honestly, I think I’m paid to tie the tiny bows on ballet shoes and unscrew the lids on water bottles.

Dance class, at this age, is much more about learning to listen, learning to cooperate, learning to wait your turn. The actual dancing? We do that too, but it’s certainly not forty-five minutes of technical dance training. Of course, I do see my students progress over the term. I see them being more secure in their balances, more powerful in their jumps. But I also see them being more patient and more understanding. And of course, most of them sign up again for the next term!