The dance recital

I've discovered the most terrifying thing in the world... I'm getting old.

It shouldn't be much of a surprise, given the grays developing on the sides of my head. I just never realized it as much as today, when I went to a dance recital for Lissie.

Generally speaking, this would be something I should've loved. You have athletic high school girls in skimpy outfits gyrating. Heck, seeing it in words sounds wonderful to any red-blooded American male.

Instead, I found it sickening. With every tap dance, jazz or hip-hop routine, I found myself thinking, "They don't need to shake like that," or "That's just too much cleavage shaking," or "What are they training for? Work in a strip club?"

It's a disappointing day for a man to realize you're sickened by what once made you very, very happy.

I know exactly why that's the case, though. In every dance outfit, I envisioned our little 4-year-old Lissie in their place. And I quite simply don't want Lissie to learn how to dance like she belongs on Coyote Ugly.

So, as much as it kills me to say it, if she's going to stay in dance classes... I hope she sticks with ballet.