I always wanted to be a great dancer. How great to be on Broadway, dancing in a musical. In a chorus line kicking and hooting. With a love interest waltzing me across the stage our hearts pounding against each other. Alas there is no room for a five foot five Broadway dancer. I thought of wearing extremely high heels and passing as a taller person, but I just fell down a lot. I had a lot of time to think about dancing while recuperating in the hospital for my broken ankle. I suppose some dance lessons along the way would have helped too.
I didn't get piano lessons either. I think I'm the only kid in the world who complained about not being able to take piano lessons. I was forced to play sports and really where has that gotten me? A contract to play professional t-ball, no. I own a banjo, two guitars and an Irish drum. I can play dueling banjos and keep rhythm with a jig but alas no calls to Nashville or even Fallbrook.
Thank God my parents had me ten years after my older sister. I was left alone from much sibling contact and allowed to watch hour upon hour of mind numbing television. My little sponge of a brain was not bogged down with useless information like musical scales or math skills. I learned useful things like Bing Crosby's real name is Harry Lillis Crosby and you can't roller skate in a buffalo heard. I turned out ok, so far. Something could certainly still go very wrong.
