Brave

She's so brave. It's like she doesn't know to get embarrassed or anxious or worry about what others think. Which is ridiculous because she's 15. She cares what her peers think about almost everything.

Instead she's up on stage in front of over a hundred people dancing. And maybe not dancing well, although it's hard to know what dancing well is these days for me. I'm so far away from teenaged dancing I probably sound like a 70 year old man yelling at kids to get off his lawn. "Why in my day we didn't jiggle our hips and hop on one leg."*

But she's up there dancing to a pop song, unlike any of the other dancers this evening who have danced to hip hop or rap or even dance mixes like at an adult club. She's dancing to a pop song in pants and a silver sequined top when all the other girls had flapper like dresses. She's dancing alone on stage, by herself. The only performance this evening to contain only one dancer.

I watch her and I feel like I'm going to be sick.

When she took the stage almost no one clapped. A kid next to me started to laugh when her music started and I stared him down. That's my baby. Shut up you hooligan. He stopped.

When she finished the auditorium erupted in applause. I screamed for her.

She's so brave, my 15 year old. So beyond anything I could have ever imagined at 15.

As a parent I shouldn't take credit when my child does well because she is her own person.

But I certainly think I must be doing something right.