I took ballet as a kid. For ten years.
I might have even been good, too, but I’ll never know.
Because I quit.
Because I was a stupid teenager.
It was too hard, too time-consuming. And there was a little not-allowed-to-wear-underpants-underneath-the-leotard situation.
When Emily was born and I heard that lovely “It’s a girl!” announcement, the first thing I said was, “God, I can’t wait to put her in a tutu.” Actually, that’s kind of a lie. The first thing I said was actually, “GOD SHE LOOKS LIKE MY MOM!” But moments later, I really did say that thing about the tutu. And I stayed true to my word. Girl was in a tutu almost before she could speak.
We started in ballet, but when I realized that, well, she was actually good, we moved to a new dance school, and a new dance. We moved her to the Vibe Dance Studio in the Toronto nosebleeds, and we switched her to hip hop. And we have never looked back.
She’s a small Jewish girl who likes to dance, she will never be on Dance Moms. But dancing weekly is good for her self-esteem. It’s good for her body. And it’s fun—she loves it. A few weeks ago, an amazing opportunity came up, and we jumped at the chance.
Dancing at the halftime show at a Raptors game.
She leads a charmed life, my kid.
She’s the wee one all the way on the left. If you squint hard enough you can see her.
But you’ll need no squinting at all to be proud of her.
I know I don’t.
(Thanks Marnie and Rena for this amazing opportunity. The Martells are big, big fans of everything you do for our girls and for everyone else. Thanks, also, for the video that we, uh, lifted a little bit.)