hiking without happy meals; a modern paradigm chronicling the struggles, pitfalls,
& successes of life, running, writing, urban farming,
& home schooling in these crazy modern days.
Life is our classroom.
It happened slowly.The foot steps, the hip shakes, the glance back at me through the mirror.More steps, add music, & she turns completely around to glare me undiluted by reflection.The parent next to me giggles at the sterness framed on the face of a child.Jazz hands, one more combination, and that is it Dance is over. Well not for the other kids in the class but for Beach who stomped across the dance studio jumped in my lap looking on the verge of tears muttering, “This sucks.It is so not right.”
Okay, no harm done. I hadn't even rounded up a pair of not-pink dance slippers.The gym rat doesn’t like Jazz- big deal.
“How about Ballet?’ I ask walking to the car.
“Ballet sucks!” The adorable 7 yr in a black leo says loudly catching the attention of a few men laying in the shade.
“NO. And don’t say soccer.”
“I wasn’t going to say soccer.But what went wrong?You seemed to like dance.”
“Yeah! Until they started dancing!”
It’s really too bad.
She is a beautiful dancer. Please don’t tell her I said that she would never forgive me.
But the loss to the dance world is not my issue. This is an unfamiliar childhood to me. With her the days of sampling sports & hit-or-miss activities are well behind us, long lost visions in the rearview mirror. I feel like I didn't get a chance to say good-bye.I suppose sitting at State watching her 'win' I knew something was being gained but I didn’t fully understand what was being lost. The other little girls from dance class caught us walking. They flocked around her asking her to show them a back-walk-over, a handstand, a round-off. She smiled at me over their heads.
I think I can stop trying to find her something 'fun' to do for the summer. I’m going to just stand here and pretend I am still leading us and she’s smart & sweet enough that for now anyway, she’s going let me.