Thirteen years ago, little Debbie, age three, stood on stage for her first dance recital. She wore a black and white outfit that looked like a maid. It had a white lacey hat and a skirt that stood out a foot on either side. When she got on the stage, she forgot most of the dance, but no one cared because she looked so cute.
And I stood behind the curtain and cried.
Debbie is age sixteen now. She had five performances in this recital, five stunning costumes. She danced on high healed tap shoes. She danced on pointe. She danced behind the curtain for the 1st and 2nd grade class that she student taught this year.
She danced in the finale, with her dancing teacher.
And I sat in my seat, looked at how beautiful, grown-up and talented she had become and cried.
If only the rest of life was like that. If only we could start out as babes, and in the end gain the talent and grace to dance on stage beside our teachers.
Yes, that is what I want. I want to be grown-up now, just like that.
