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.
I sound absolutely stark raving mad, “Well, what she wants is something really, really hard.”Okay, I can hear the words coming out of my mouth.I can hear the silence on the other end of the line.I can hear the nice lady thinking “yeah right that’s what HER kid wants”.And I can hear Beach doing jump squat in her bedroom.
“Look, I know how that sounds but if you could just meet her, see her dance and then maybe you would understand what the issue is….”
I feel stark raving mad to be back on this carousel with an eight-year-old who wants to dance but wants something not fluffy or pink.Something not ‘stupid’ like Jazz Dance was (broken boxes).Something not all princess-butt, something hard and bloody (all her words not mine)….yeah, I keep telling her I think what you want Kid, is ballet.
But how do you explain to a little girl who asked for a blowtorch for whatever holiday gives gifts next that ballet is a real discipline not unlike gymnastics when her basal knowledge is pink+princess = ballet. And how in god’s name do you explain this kid to the dance teacher on the other end of the phone line.
Two years ago a stranger told me Beach was a gymnast.
Six months ago a stranger told me Beach was a ballerina (left field).
Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction and sometimes strangers are just strange…but until we know who's who, we have some dance teachers to meet.I’ll let you know how it goes.