dance

The words "white space" mean different things to different people. To an artist, it signifies the unmarked areas on a canvas. To a radio broadcaster, it means an open frequency. As a father, it can mean something altogether different.

Recently, I had the privilege of hearing Juliet Funt speak. Even though she doesn't live in a van down by the river, she manages to be an effective motivational speaker. One of the things she talked about that hit home with me was making sure that there is plenty "white space," or unplanned time in your day.

There is only one week left until the eldest starts dance class. I fear that the hummingbirds ballet class may be a gateway drug to much worse things.

It starts out innocently enough, just one pirouette, then before you know it she'll be doing more advanced maneuvers like a battement. Then she'll branch out in to completely different things like jazz dance. She'll be doing kick ball changes off of a table top in no time. If we're not careful, she'll be out on the streets learning hip hop and pop locking with any stranger that will give her the time of day! But I digress...

The fact of the matter is that I can't dance. I'm a dude, and like to do dude things. I enjoy things like baseball, tennis, basketball, and the atlas stone lift. These are the activities I know, granted my skills aren't what they once were, especially in regards to lifting a giant stone.

However, I still like to view, analyze, and play the aforementioned sports. What if my daughters don't like anything that I'm good at. I most definitely can't teach them how to dance, do gymnastics, or figure skate. So will my role become one of a cheerleader, and nothing else?

While in time I must come to grips with the idea of being merely an athletic supporter, that time is not now. The three year old is waiting outside with her baseball bat, we've got some soft toss to do.