
We all know kids who want to be ball players or artists or doctors when they grow up. I knew a little girl who danced. “I’m going to be a dancer,” she would say in her tiny little voice. It was cute. As she grew, her vision never dimmed. “I’m going to be a dancer.”
By her senior year in high school, there was
panic among her parents and her relatives and her teachers and her friends. They told her to get a real job, that no one makes a living dancing. You’re not good enough, they said, become an accountant, they said. Someone told her (it may have been me) that she might as well become a poet if she wasn’t interested in money. It’s easier on the legs.
“I’m going to be a dancer,” she said, and off she went to
I guess she told us.





