The Toe Walker

Have you ever noticed that one person in every picture?  No matter how many people are featured, there's always that one person who shines through.  That would be Whitney.  It didn't matter where she was or what she was doing, Whitney was born with stage presence. The day that she stood up on her tip toes, leaned forward and took those first signature steps was surely the beginning of something that was anything but ordinary.

The familiar debate as to  whether personality traits are nature or nurture is not a new one.  That being said, I would be willing to bet dollars to doughnuts that the qualities unique to Whitney, most certainly lean more toward the nature-ish end of the spectrum.  Of course, that is coming from my point of view, surmised after careful consideration, and the realization that other members of the Steele clan not only walk on flat feet, but tend to shun and avoid cameras whenever and wherever possible.

Living in the great age of Google, we can find just about anything we want. Of course back then it was referred to as the great "Information Superhighway".  So after typing in the words  "Toe Walker",  I waited . . . and waited.  The internet was quite slow back then, and we had dial-up.  But eventually the screen filled with varied schools of thought on the subject.  Toe walkers were considered to be everything from eccentric, brilliant, or gifted, to having disorders such as muscular dystrophy, autism, cerebral palsy, or simply having short tendons.  I recall one article mentioning that toe walkers were, more often than not, left handed.  How did they know these things?  Amazing!

Whitney has pretty much always known what she wanted, even early in life.  That in itself is quite an advantage.  She also had a knack for making good use of her time, as much as a child can.  Younger siblings don't get much of a say in where they go most of the time.  Brigette and Ike were busy being teenagers, so Whitney and Tom had the pleasure of attending all of their events, like it or not.  Sometimes they would happily play in a grassy area during a music lesson, but more often than not, it meant long hours of sitting, waiting, or watching their siblings in various activities.  A good number of those hours were spent on bleachers at wrestling matches that are well known for being all-day events.  We would arrive early, and Whitney would settle in for the duration.  She brought toys, books, and other things to keep herself occupied.  After establishing her little area, she would look for a friend.  She was set for the day.  I don't recall ever worrying that she might be bored or that she might possibly wander off.  When questioned by Brigette as to why she would waste her time getting to know someone that she'd never even see again, Whitney didn't seem at all concerned.  She would reply that it was simply a "day friend" and it helped her to pass the time.  

 

Whitney had a habit of coming into our room in the middle of the night.  A very common thing for children to do.  While most children simply climb up into bed and happily fall asleep, Whitney went through varying stages of night visits into our room when she was unable to sleep, and her routine changed up over the years.  Sometimes she would quietly snuggle in, however not being able to sleep, she would sing to herself.  I remember one night, she was singing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star", I shushed her.  She'd stop . . . for a moment or two.  Before long, a quieter version of the tune would invariably begin.  She just couldn't help herself.  Later, many of those wee morning-hour visits were met with a request for something to drink, or to eat.  I didn't mind getting up to get her a drink of water or juice, or a cracker.  However, the night that her request included a "yellow sandwich", I knew it was time to re-think this ritual.  I wanted to be a good mom, but I knew that the yellow sandwich referred to, was what she called a grilled cheese sandwich, and I was pretty sure that I didn't want my mom duties to develop into that of becoming a 24-hour short order cook. When she was a bit older, the routine changed yet again, as we found ourselves being awakened to Whitney, quietly hovering, and patiently waiting for us to wake up.  After being startled with that feeling one gets while being stared at, she would ask, "What do you do when you can't sleep?"  She would ask with such concern, as if it was the first time that she'd ever pondered such a quandary. But night after night her question was always the same, "What do you do when you can't sleep?"  Of course we had suggestions, but no real answers for her.  Then there was that time she called from a friend's house in the middle of the night - but that story is for another time . . .    

When we made the move to from Gainesville to Portland, we hoped to make it seem

more like a vacation than a seemingly never ending drive, finding something fun and interesting in every city.  Nashville was day three, and it was Whitney's birthday as well.  We had planned for it, presents tucked away in the U-Haul, and we purchased a cake at a local bakery.  Whitney turned five in a Nashville hotel room and she didn't mind at all.  She assumed that I made the cake right there just for her, and she was happy as can be. We ate cake, opened presents, and played with hundreds of pieces of pretend toy food, making quite a mess in the process.  The rest of that journey is more or less a blur, except the vivid memories of singing showtunes, hour after hour, mile after mile.  Scott mentioned to me, after hearing how we had spent our day, that he was glad that he and Ike were driving in the U-Haul.  I admit that I was more than happy to be in the mini-van, singing away the hours and miles, as we drove through several states and historic landmarks.  To each his own.

I've always loved music, so when Whitney seemed to follow suit, I assumed that she was "just like me".  Not even close.  In fact, as Whitney got older, I realized that there were times that I was living my dreams through her. I may have had the dreams, but was lacking in the talent, drive, and the wherewithal to even come close. It wasn't my nature to work that hard!

I still love music, and would probably listen to it 24/7 if it were socially acceptable.  It was always such a treat going to see Whitney whenever she was in a school program or musical.  During her first year of high school, she got a small part in Guys and Dolls.  About half way through I noticed Scott rubbing his temples.  Interesting how one can sit through an all day wrestling event, but an iconic Broadway favorite, not so much.  On the other hand, when Whitney was Belle in Beauty and the Beast, we didn't miss one performance and signs of fatigue or boredom were nowhere to be found.  It dawned on me that he probably would have loved Guys and Dolls if Whitney had only been given a larger role.  After high school, I went through a type of withdrawal.  Whitney was by no means finished, but it was over for me, and it took a while to get used to the idea that she'd be doing all those things on her own now . . . as she should.  My melancholy was short lived.

Once again, Whitney knew what she wanted, and made good use of her time.  She made her plan and moved downtown, got a job (or two) and focused on studying music.  We enjoyed all the things that Portland State, and later the San Francisco Conservatory of Music had to offer.  She always made sure that we were invited to events, and opened our minds to different kinds of places to eat all around Portland and San Francisco as well, places that I'm almost certain we would have never experienced on our own.  Another new experience was that of having our car towed.  I am now well aware of  "Zip Car" zones, although I'm not sure Zip Cars are even a thing anymore.  Scott, Tom, and I wandered around downtown for quite some time before finally finding where the car was, and then having to pay several hundred dollars to get it back.  It was after hours and Martin Luther King Day as well, which compounded our fees.  Thank you City of Portland!

Living downtown gave Whitney several new opportunities as well.  Besides becoming accustomed to sirens, street cleaners, and other loud noises all night, she and her first roommate had to bail water all night due to a plumbing malfunction.  Her apartment in Goose Hollow was infested with black mold, and her roommate while living there used Craig's List to invite strangers to come over to eat food that she had brought home from the culinary school where she studied.  Her year off before grad school saw her in her very own studio apartment.  Again, a whole new experience which she absolutely loved.  Her little apartment was so cute, and in one of those old timey buildings, complete with an elevator with a manual sliding door.  Her first place in San Francisco was a 10 x 10 room with simply a bed, desk, and television, with shared kitchen and bath, but she was soon able to upgrade to a basement apartment that, in her words was owned by an "elderly Asian couple", who ended up being younger than I am.  That hurts!  Such a great place, close to both the beach and Golden Gate Park, and a stone's throw from the train into downtown.

Whitney calls, still making good use of her time by multi-tasking.  She is usually on her way walking somewhere, has just missed the train and needs 10 minutes to fill, or simply has something exciting to share.  One memorable call was to tell me that she realized that she can be an opera singer and have a life as well!  What an accomplishment, as it opened up all sorts of new possibilities for her.  Years later, after many were advising her to "be a nurse, or something practical", she is vindicated in her decision to follow her passion.  She explained to me, "When a musician can finally quit their coffee shop and table waiting jobs . . . they have succeeded."  Whitney is there.  She may be burning the candle at both ends, but she is young and passionate.  All of her many jobs are music related, and she does indeed have quite a life.

There comes a time when parents become aware that their child is more than simply their child.  A kind of affirmation that their child is a person . . . individual and distinct.  It's a gradual process that happens over time, providing milestone moments along the way.  One of those moments remains clearly in my mind.  I was driving by Tualatin High School one afternoon.  It seemed as if I had pulled up to that school so many times over the years, whether it was for meetings, sporting events, concerts, or theater events, not to mention the countess hours of doing nothing more than simply waiting in the parking lot.  I remember contemplating the fact that my kids had spent a combined 16 years inside those walls, having lives of which I knew next to nothing.  Strangely enough, I found it a comforting thought.  Today they are all out in the world living their own individual lives, a very reassuring feeling.  I recently googled the words "Toe Walker" and to my surprise, only received rather negative search results.  What happened?  Did they have some new great breakthrough, or did I possibly dream the whole thing?  I suppose it really doesn't matter, as I recall Whitney telling me once, "Mom, you can believe in anything you want to."  So I choose to believe that toe walkers are eccentric, brilliant, talented, and of course lefties!  Why shouldn't I?  I can only go by my own research and experience.  Since there are many schools of thought on the subject, why shouldn't mine be thrown in as well? 

Happy Birthday Whitney!

"The Gondoliers"

Lamplighters Music Theater

San Francisco 2018