This is the story of how I single-handedly ruined my 6 year old son's life by enrolling him in dance!!
Alright, so that's a
"Luke, you can choose soccer, basketball, karate (mumbled quietly because I can't stand karate), gymnastics, or... DANCE!!!!! Did you hear me? You can do DANCE! You love to DANCE!!!"
The most interesting part of Luke's foray into dance was the reaction it got from my friends. When I asked why they didn't put their own sons in dance, the standard reaction was, "Oh, no, my husband would kill me!" (Lots of violent husbands, evidently motivated to kill by the thought of seeing their son in jazz shoes.) Then there was my friend who told me the cautionary tale of her brother's husband who was involved in dance also. You can see where this was going. No one flat out told me that they thought it was very gay for my son to be in dance lessons, but they sure as heck insinuated it was.
Despite my love of dance, I will admit that even I had my doubts that Luke should complete the year. He was young, with not a lot of rhythm. Those first few months were pretty painful to watch, but I decided to stick it out anyway. Then the recital rolled around and Luke actually did a really good job! Plus. since only about 10 of the 200 dancers in the show were male, the boys were pretty much the center of attention. The few teenage male dancers were doing flips and outrageous dance moves. I went backstage and they had girls hanging all over them! Those male dancers weren't stupid. They knew what was up.
Luke reminds me weekly, with no prodding, that he would like to do dance again next year. That's fine by me.