Principal dancer, Dance Theatre of Harlem
(1989– )
I danced in my first Nutcracker at the Bronx Dance Theatre when I was around six. I was cast as a Brat. The Brats were the two little girls and one boy in the house who basically tried to wreck the Nutcracker by throwing things around. It was a good fit for me since in my own family I was the younger child who wanted the things that my sister had. As a Brat, I could be onstage and turn that into something beautiful.
Since the Nutcracker was something done in the holiday season, I associated dancing with beauty and magic.
At that same dancing school we also had a teacher with curly hair and a thick accent from the Islands. I thought she was like my secret mom because I thought we looked alike. We did this wild dance with masks on and our hair standing out. It was crazy! I loved the intensity of it—that freedom of movement while running around.
I went to school in Riverdale but our home was near Arthur Avenue in Little Italy of the Bronx. My mother was a teacher in Tarrytown, so I think she found out where the best school district was in the Bronx and that’s where my sister and I went.
I got to be part of Eliot Feld’s Ballet Tech program from third grade to fifth grade. They would pick up two children from public schools in each borough and bus them to downtown Manhattan. That was the beginning of my formal training, so the dynamic of academic work and going to dance after school—of going into the city from Riverdale—was always very exciting to me. That started the dedication and the serious training for me.
My mother encouraged me to be independent by teaching me how to use the subway. She took me once, showed me where to get off, and said, “You got it.” I was just about eleven. She instilled that independence in me but was also cautious. “Stand in the first car. Don’t wear your nice headphones on. Don’t talk to strangers. Come right home.” I was very excited because no one else I knew took the train alone. And then the devastation of 9/11 happened.
It seems so long ago now. I had no fear until then. I was at the Professional Performing Arts School where I had started middle school, on West Forty-Eighth Street in Manhattan. My sister was at Hunter College, which is on East Sixty-Eighth Street. I didn’t have a cell phone, but my mother paged me on my beeper to tell me what had happened and what to do. I called my mom from a pay phone and she told me that Tiana, my older sister, would pick me up. There was no way for my parents to get me since they were both working outside the city. My mother insisted that we not go to a subway, not only because most of the trains weren’t running but also because she had a fear that the subways might be blown up. So my sister and I started walking home to the Bronx. We walked for about five hours, stopping for food at a Spanish restaurant somewhere in the Nineties, but by the time we got to 125th Street we took the A train to 207th Street and then the bus from there to Fordham Road. I sat on the floor of the bus, because I was exhausted, not only from the walking but also from all the textbooks I had with me since it was the beginning of the school year.
There’s a terrible stereotype that the Bronx is not safe. I felt more unsafe in the Lincoln Center area where I went to LaGuardia High School than I did when I went home to the Bronx. Right across the street from our school was the Martin Luther King School, where they had to install metal detectors at the entrance. At LaGuardia there were kids from all the boroughs, kids with pink hair and kids in general who may have looked different. We weren’t allowed out for lunch because the school officials thought that the Martin Luther King kids would beat us up.
I also never felt totally at home in Manhattan because there was a contrast of wealth that I wasn’t aware of in the Bronx. You would have a beautiful brownstone and then a public housing project. And in the Lincoln Center neighborhood, west of the theaters, it wasn’t particularly residential. I was not aware of a sense of community. I went back home to the Bronx on the train and I always felt safe going home.
From the ages of ten to eighteen, I trained at the School of American Ballet, which was a classical ballet company, but not very diverse at all. At the time I think I was the only ethnic dancer in the program. It didn’t really affect me particularly until I went to college when people questioned me about how it felt being the only African American there. During that time, I had no idea that being a role model was important because I thought of myself as just a dancer, like everyone else. But later on, going back and forth to the Dance Theatre of Harlem, where I trained in the summer, I met a lot of African American kids. There’s a lot more diversity in contemporary dance than there is in ballet. It was then I began realizing that there were very few female African American dancers in ballet and that these dancers didn’t have serious role models.
Dance is a great activity and a fun thing for kids to do, but to go further with it you have to be very serious and you have to have someone to look up to. Someone similar to you so that you can see yourself achieving like they have. Aesha Ash was an African American dancer in the New York City Ballet and was the only African American dancer there. She is so beautiful, both physically and mentally, so she was a huge role model for me.
The battle I had between wanting to continue to dance or study academics more seriously was something that I dealt with my whole life, it seems. I honestly wasn’t sure if I had the stomach to try to be a professional dancer, so I went to Juilliard, which I thought was the best combination of academics and dance. I continued to dance at Juilliard and proved to myself that I could do it.
I’m biracial, but I was brought up Italian. I loved the food—and the bread. My grandma always made her own sauce. She’d probably not be happy if she were still alive and knew that we’ve started using jar sauce. I grew up with the importance of cooking and of having meals together. A lot of kids my age at that time didn’t eat with their families, but we ate together every night, no matter what. We had home-cooked meals. A lot of pasta. Sausage. The best. Amazing that I didn’t get fat.
My grandmother was one of six girls in her family and grew up very Italian, even though she was brought up in America. She both understood Italian and cursed in Italian. She instilled in me a sense of pride because growing up she herself had little but worked very hard her whole life and was proud of that.
My mother’s and grandmother’s work ethic influenced my sister and me a lot. As soon as we were sixteen both my sister and I were told to get jobs. And we did. My sister worked at the Bronx Zoo and I worked at Darryl’s, a clothing boutique on the Upper West Side. Darryl is still a great friend of mine.
I have a strong sense of my Italian heritage, extending even to the Italians not liking the Albanians. In the early 2000s, when my grandmother was still alive, the Albanians started owning and staffing some of the shops in our neighborhood. There was DeLillo’s Italian bakery and Palumbo’s bakery across the street, which began hiring Albanians as staff. She’d say, “I don’t think the pastries are as good. Very Albanian. Go get me a cannoli. Don’t go to Palumbo’s.”
The whole of it, even with the conflict involved, was still very comforting to me. I knew the food. I knew the shops. We had our own public library. Everything I needed was basically in one place and I felt safe. It’s also so much cheaper than the city.
I’m in the same private house I grew up in, but now I’ve taken over the second floor and my mom lives on the first floor. Living there is affordable, even though our neighborhood is changing a little because of Fordham University, which means the cost of housing is going up. Down the block from my house Fordham has taken an entire complex and turned it into dorms. We now have, like, smoothie shops in our neighborhood. We never had smoothie shops in the Bronx. You know, frozen yogurt. Parts of the borough are becoming more trendy—and maybe that’s a good thing.