I had the privilege of attending Butterfly’s dance recital yesterday afternoon.  I don’t think that I’ve ever seen a 4-year old as excited.  The recital included two performances from about six other groups ranging from 4-years old up to about third grade.  There was even a hip-hop group of youngsters showing their agility.  (The hip-hop group had two boys in the class, which puzzled our 2-year old, Ladybug.  “Why da boyz up dare?”)

I’m a completely biased parent, but I think that Butterfly’s age group was the cutest thing all afternoon.  Though well-rehearsed, the girls frolicked about, occasionally doing similar motions before freezing in the spotlight again.  Most of the time, their little bodies made small, dance-like movements as they stared just off-stage to their teachers who were reminding them what to do.

The highlight of the entire event, though, was when Butterfly’s group ran around on the stage and then formed a circle.  As they held hands, they stepped in close to one another, and back out again.  Petite ballerina giggles filled the stage.  They repeated the move and giggled even more.  The laughter of these tiny performers carried over the sounds of the waltz and settled on the quite crowd.  If I could possibly capture a memory and share it with everyone, that one is on the top of the list.  Captured in their laughter was their innocence mixed with the fun they were having.

At the end of the recital, a group of older girls (Butterfly informed me that they were “teenagers”) performed a dance to preview the second recital, which was for the older groups and would immediately follow Butterfly’s.  My friend, Mr. Rickie, phrased it best when he said “I felt like a dirty old man sitting there while they did that dance.”  Hips were thrust, bosoms were jiggled, glances were cast and chairs were enticed.  I know that we should have stayed and supported the older girls, but I don’t think that I had enough $1 bills to make it through the show.  Reports from friends are that the second show met the expectations that the preview laid.  So, instead of watching what I would deem as border-line raunchy, we took Butterfly and Ladybug to Dairy Queen.  They were OK with that decision.

Kelley and I talked last night about “dance” and what it has become.  I thought that our daughter would eventually learn ballerina stuff for a performance in “The Nutcracker” instead of a lap-dancing technique of the same name.  As I drifted off to sleep, I slowly came to the realization of what Kelley and I are going to have to do:

Someday, in a couple of years, we’re going to bring Butterfly into the kitchen and sit her down.  As we tell her how much we lover her and support her, we’ll gently break the news to her that her friend, Dance, was shot during an armed robbery.  Everyone is hoping for the best, but it doesn’t look like Dance is going to pull through.  We’ll cry with her for a little while and then try to shift her attention with ice cream or something like that.  Then we’ll gently guide her to another extra-curricular activity that is completely harmless and will preserve her innocence.  Maybe television.