Ode to Dad

I was eleven years old when I attended the second audition of what was to be too many to count.  I attended a small ballet company on the east-side of Columbus, the second of the three ballet schools of my youth, and in my opinion, the best in the city.  The audition was for membership in "The Company" which performed publicly and at schools around the city.  I had not made the cut the year before, but now, at eleven, I had so much more going for me...!  By the time I was eleven, I was probably in dance class four or five nights out of the week.  Both of my sisters danced.  My mom took classes, and also, for a period of time, taught movement classes for very small children.  Someone in our family was at dance class at Alan Miles Ballet Academy on almost any given night between 1983 and 1987.

My father did not take ballet classes.

Remember Me Tall

Among the many steps into adulthood that I must take is the uncomfortable action of creating a will.  I guess its time.  It's always time, isn't it?  It is always the perfect time to make a will, just like it is always the perfect time to break-up with a married man or start those exercise videos or that watercolor class.  All choices, I recently read, are made from either faith or fear.  Let's see:  I choose to sort the stacks of Cd's in our apartment rather than create a will out of . . . ?  

Yet, I am married now, and the thought of my husband having to make difficult decisions without my advice fills me with more fear than faith.  I mean no offense, only that I think about these things, and he doesn't, and when I bring them up, I have little faith that he will remember the conversation at all.  Especially if I am dead.