My eight-and-a- half-year-old granddaughter attended dance camp for a week this summer. I can’t take credit for this opportunity given her; her other grandmother signed her up. I’m grateful and pleased because HMJ had a ball and a new passion has been born.
For four consecutive days, the girls learned a new dance: contemporary, jazz, hip-hop, and cheer. Our girl has no previous dance experience like I noticed a lot of the other girls had. HMJ might have been a beat behind at times, but I cried with pride as I watched her glow and dance as if she was born to it. When did she become so confident, this quiet and sensitive child?
HMJ made my eyes water.
What’s this? Old lady tears? But I’m not O-L-D, though I notice I’m becoming soft and cry more easily. . .
As well as dance, various other camps were present: singing, music and craft. Each group showed off their best talents.
Of course when you have a presentation, you need an MC to keep the program moving along and a sidekick to add spice. All the councilors in charge appeared to be college students—these camps and recital took place at our local college. The sidekick was entertaining and not bad looking.
The MC was a tall muscular fellow wearing a red baseball cap and sporting a square jaw and pouty Paul Newman mouth. I gawked at the athletic legs peeking out below the hem of his shorts. Did I mention he was tall? He reminded me of younger days and another young man so long ago. I couldn’t take me eyes off him. I don’t know anyone as sexy as a male entertaining young children, don’t you see?
Get a hold of yourself, you’re a GRANDmother. . .
OMG. I’m a cougar!
At my granddaughter’s recital.
What the heck is happening to me? Oh how I would like to turn back the clock for at least fifteen minutes.