Recently, a dance organization visited Miles’s school to engage with the kids. Miles was one of the students singled out as “really getting into it.” (No one who remembers his Christmas performance at German school will be surprised by this.) Miles was recommended to continue the dance program after school, and we, wanting to provide every possible opportunity for him to experience a variety of activities and find his passions, immediately agreed.
Miles had his first after-school session yesterday. The only real feedback I initially got was that he “got a shirt” for his first day. I wanted more information.
“So,” I said this morning. “How did dance class go?”
A moment passed, and then Miles said, “Fine.”
WHOA. HOLD UP. Did my kid just “Fine” me? I wasn’t ready for this. I was hoping I would at least get another five years of eager, impassioned conversations before the creeping teenage years started to impact things.
“‘Fine’?” I echoed, aghast. “What do you mean, ‘Fine’?”
Thankfully, Miles elaborated. He was in dance class, but many of the other students had been outside playing soccer. I asked him if he would’ve rather been playing soccer or in dance class.
“Dance class,” he admitted.
That’s a relief, because we’ve already paid for those classes. But even greater was the relief I felt when he actually provided more detail. Had me worried for a second there!
The Perils (& Pride) of Paternity 