A beautiful story of a young girl who finally realised her full potential and is now living the dream! Well done, Karen!
When I was five, my parents enrolled me in my first dance lesson.
I wasn’t nearly as flexible as the other girls nor had I been dancing straight from the womb, but I found myself falling in love with the tutus, the tap shoes, the walls of silver and gold medals, and of course, the bobby-pinned slicked back buns. While I stared in awe behind glass windows at the other girls pirouetting and chasséing effortlessly across the floor, I yearned for the attention the older, more experienced, girls received: the dozens of eyes glued on their chiseled arms and pointed toes.
Somewhere between third and fourth grade, my parents pulled me from the studio I had been dancing for. Whether it was due to the generally harsh demeanor of the studio Director or my failure to vocalize my love affair with jazz and tap, I will never quite know. But during those dance-less years, I…
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