Oni Thornell Day in the life:
A Look at the Colonial World Through the Eyes of an English Dance and Music Tutor
I can feel the warmth emitting from the house as I walk to my student’s dwelling. The house was decorated with mahogany paneling and it wraps around the structure. Still the same dreary gray weather with many fluffy clouds blocking out any sunshine. It is a normal day for me. This house is one that I have come to recognize and know. My dancing heels click across the wooden patio floors, alerting anyone in the house that I am here. My dancing dress is making swishing noises as I make my way to the doorway. I can hear a baby crying from inside. The cries are loud enough to be heard from outside. I release a breath hoping that today there might be an improvement in my student. Cornelia James is her name. She is 16 years old, who aspires to become a dance and music teacher. I have been teaching her now for about 6 weeks, SIX WEEKS, and she has yet to show a sign of improvement. I am getting worried that her mother will blame the lack of improvement on me. She is stubborn and tough but I can tell she tries. Something is holding her back but I am not sure what. I am determined to find out what. As I reach my hand out to knock on the wooden doors I just pray to god that she might show some sign of improvement.
“No Cornelia, Wrong foot,” I say impatiently. I am a simple middling woman supposedly graced with patience and kindness but right now I am not so sure. I am sorry. I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Amity Charter. I am 24 years old and I teach dance and music. I am doubting my ability to teach. I have tried all the tactics I know. I have tried bribing, yelling, being nice, anything and everything. ”I am trying Ms. Charter, It isn’t working. No matter what I do I always do these steps wrong,” she yells in exasperation. “ Okay, Cornelia,” I sigh. “Let us try again,”. We continue doing the Minuet over and over and over again. By the end of it, Cornelia improved but she is still having trouble. This time is no different than every other time
I try and try again. It doesn’t seem to work. She just can’t…. I don’t know…. Understand. I don’t think that she has ever had trouble with anything like she has with this. It’s quite unbelievable. Every child I have ever taught has at least picked up on the pattern or the way to position the foot, but with Cornelia… it’s like we restart every time. I bring myself back to reality, realizing that Cornelia is talking to me “-uhh, I can’t do it.” She finishes. I have heard her say this time and time before.” Okay Cornelia,” I sigh and then said, “take a break.” Cornelia turns and looks at me with weary and tired eyes. She then turns and walks into the next room. I rub my hands up and down my face in frustrations and tiredness. I wander around the room, my heel clicking on the floor as my skirts caress my legs. I let myself fall onto a couch and I feel myself sink into it. I have to figure a way around this. Something that could help her. If I don’t I would let down everyone down. “What to do, what to do….,” I murmur to myself. I find myself pacing the entirety of the room. I need to find what is holding her back. I need to be patient, calm and reassuring.
Cornelia walks back in the room, her heels making a consistent click, click, click as she walked. Her face slightly red from crying before. I open my mouth to talk but she beats me to it.” I know, I know, I have to fix this or I did this wrong. I get I can’t do anything right,” she says. “ That’s not what I was going to say, Cornelia,” I say , “ I want to know why this is happening,”. She sighs and sits down on the couch across from me. “ I am afraid,” she whispered. “Of what Cornelia,” I say in a quiet voice as not to scare her. “ I don’t know,.. of failure, being a disappointment even dancing in front of people makes me scared,” she says. I can feel the wall that she has built as protection beging to crack. She might finally be opening up to me. All this time, how could I not think of her being afraid. She was always shy with the dance moves. Never even wanting to do them in front of her own family. That was what was holding her back. She always used to tell me about how she would love to be a tutor and how it looked fun. All this time she was just afraid. I stood up with new determination. I would not let this woman and her family down. “ Cornelia, you will not be a disappointment. I believe that you can do this,” I say. Cornelia looks up with tears streaking down her face. “ But I.. I don’t know how, or if I even can,”. “Cornelia, if we do this you are going to have to try and trust yourself that believe that you can be a dancer ,”.
The rest of the afternoon was spent practicing and working on her self confidence. I realized my errors and fixed them. I was going about it the wrong way. I needed to be encouraging, reassuring and caring. Not distant and strict. We went well into the afternoon practicing. We laughed and worked together. I helped build her confidence, made her believe in herself. She is showing signs of understanding and improvement. In all my 24 years of living and tutoring, this was one of challenges but rewarding tutoring sessions. My line of work is stressful but always rewarding. Helping people work through challenges to ultimately reach their potential is extremely rewarding. As I walk out into the breezy dark night, my heels clicking on the front porch, that many might see this as a game or no fun but until you have been here and done it you can never take in the real feeling of joy that is within you.
Emma Diamond Day In The Life:
A Day In The Life Of Anne Smith
I wake up in my small bedroom and admire the beautiful sunrise out the small window. Though my living space is limited, I am not lower class. I look around for my husband, James, but realize he must be at work already. James Smith, my husband, works as a glassblower in town. He makes many important glass things and I am very proud of him. I met my husband while taking a walk outside during a day off of tutoring. It was love at first sight. We talked for a while on that day and got married soon after.
This morning I realize I am running late to the Charter’s home. I grab my coat and run out the wooden door. Walking down the street I see many people I know.
“Good Morning!” I say to my friends passing by.
“How are you?” They reply.
The conversations had in the morning while passing by are sweet and short. They are always small talk. If they carry on longer than a “how are you?” it’s usually talk about the weather. I walk for around twenty minutes after the familiar faces pass before I see the Charter family’s brown and red house in the distance. Next to the house I see Mr. Charter push a slave onto the ground. I hate slavery, but I could never tell anyone. I would be mistreated by most English people and probably wouldn’t be able to teach or see the Charter children ever again. I think about this issue everytime I come to the Charter family’s home.
Once my mind stops rambling, I walk up the stone pathway until I see the big wooden door. I put my knuckles on the door and knock hard. My whole hand is numb because it’s a nippy fall morning. I hear the faint footsteps of Mrs. Charter get louder and louder as she approaches the door. The huge door opens slowly at first. There is a dark tale of yellow eyed monsters in sharp corners being told by a lady in town so Mrs. Charter was probably checking to make sure it was me, Anne Smith, standing at her doorstep.
“Good Morning Anne,” Mrs. Charter says as she does every morning.
“Hello Mrs. Charter. How are you today?” I have to be formal with everyone, but when I am speaking with gentry class people I must be extra polite.
“I am doing well. The children are with their other tutor practicing music. Please enter the living room and begin preparing it for a dance lesson,” Mrs. Charter explains.
I walk into the living area where the children are being taught by their other tutor Sarah. I say good morning to both Sarah and the children. Sarah and I are very similar because we are both ladies who are part of the middling class. Sarah is wearing a nice long skirt and a white blouse. Her light brown hair is in a neat plait, which hangs on her back. I have known Sarah since the Charter children were much younger because we have both been their tutors for a long time. Sarah and I live very near to each other in town.
I start setting up the dance space like Mrs. Charter requested. The room has many different pieces of furniture. There are wooden tables and chairs with a comfortable-looking couch. I want to see what the feathery goodness would feel like under my body, but I know it is very rude to sit without being invited. Most of the furniture is able to fold up in order to make space for dancing. I start folding the expensive furniture, when my mind gets the best of me.
I am a middling class lady and I am envious of a gentry class family I think to myself. I have everything I need and I’m still jealous of people who own more than me. There are people like slaves who have nothing and I’m envious of someone a little wealthier than me. Also, I am very lucky to be of English descent. English people are much more advanced than the Indians and Africans. Even though we are clearly more advanced, we shouldn’t mistreat others because of their uncivilized way of living. We should teach them how to live well. This is why I am against slavery. As you can see, my thoughts get out of hand sometimes. I snap out of my daydream and get back to moving the furniture. Once everything is out of the way and ready to go, I politely ask Sarah to allow me to start with the Charter children. Of course she responds in a polite manner and says yes.
The Charter children are two girls and three boys. Sarah and I only tutor the girls. I assume to boys are tutored too. I have seen these two girls almost every day since they were much smaller children. Mary and Elizabeth are their names. They are both brunettes with dark brown eyes. Mary is nine years old and Elizabeth is eleven. Recently, I have been helping them perfect the Minuet.
“Girls come here. It is time to start practicing the dance we have been working on,” I say.
Mary and Elizabeth swiftly walk over to where I’m standing and begin to demonstrate that they know the Minuet.
“Please start from the beginning, but this time let’s do it with the music,” I say to the girls
“Ok!” they reply eager to do their favorite dance with the violin playing.
I pick up my violin and begin pulling and pushing the bow all around the strings. It makes a sharp and quick noise as I play the instrument. The girls begin to move their feet to the music. 1 2 3 4 5 6, 1 2 3 4 5 6, 1 2 3 4 5 6. Their feet move perfectly to the music. One step at a time, they move together in unison. I am so proud of these two girls. This dance was very hard for them at first, but they finally got it down perfectly. When they finish dancing they come over to give me an excited hug.
“We did it!” they exclaim.
Even though I know these girls are gentry class and I am only middling, in this moment, when they finally get the dance, we feel equal.