I’m reblogging a post from a few months ago, not because I’m too lazy to write something new, but because what I have to ask is too important to monkey around trying to say it any differently than I already have.
My daughter’s dance team has been invited to go to the Nextar Dance Competition Nationals in Ohio, and some of us parents simply can’t afford to pay their way. These kids have held bake sales and sold cookie dough and frozen pizzas. They worked their little dancer-butts off at a spaghetti dinner at the local American Legion. And through it all, they’ve kept dancing. Hoping. Believing.
The beautiful woman who runs the studio — a woman I’ve often referred to as my daughter’s “other mother” — has set up a GoFundMe account to raise money to take our kids to the competition. I’m including the link here, along with this blog post, which (I hope!) explains why the expense has been worth it to so many of us parents over the years.
I can’t believe how much it cost to enroll my daughter in a dance class.
She was four years old. The class was $35 per month. Harmless, right? Then came that first pair of ballet shoes, the first leotard and first pair of tights. Soon, there was the recital, with costume fees and ridiculously overpriced tickets to watch my kid spin and stumble around on the stage for 90 seconds somewhere in the middle of a three-hour bit of performance art, the memory of which still has the ability to make my head pound.
The Princess loved it. She thrived on it.
That one little class ballooned into two, then three. When she was seven, she wanted to audition for the competition team. When she was nine, she started begging for pointe class. Luckily, her teacher doesn’t allow her students to begin pre-pointe until age eleven, so we got a couple…
View original post 821 more words