Dance caught me by surprise.  My daughters all took "dance lessons", and I went through the perfunctory motions of the father taking his kids, picking up his kids from the lessons and then attending the "recitals", which, let's be honest, were just showcases of cuteness: look how adorable my little girl is hopping like a frog as the fifth wave of animals in the Nutcracker.

Yes, aptly named.

But something happened there along the way.  My daughers went from pre-teens to 16-18 year olds and their skill level, and the aspiration of their choreographers catapulted into something so meaningful and beautiful that I found myself weeping during the "recitals"... a far cry from my bringing a book to read and looking up when whatever animals my kids were playing waltzed onstage.

I remember my daughter Melissa, maybe 15 -- so gorgeously involved with her movements.  I wept.

I remember my daughter Amy -- in some rendition of a classical ballet and she only was on the sidelines, holding her arms just so...

I wept.

Something, I guess, about the beauty, combined with parental feelings.  What can I say, it worked for me.  And on and on, I had two more daughters who dance and "got it"... through their bodies they spoke of what it was like to be alive.

I work at a University now.  My daughters are all grown and only dance during yoga ---.  But in my role I am privilege to certain artistry of dance where the dance intersects "Ethics", which is what I work with.

I leave this post now with several images that devastate me.  Angie Banchero-Kellerher and Amy Markgraf performing a dance of subtle interaction.  This dance moves me... I can't explain.

I don't know. It's hard to explain.  This dance plays with the notions of gender relationships.  Two men, two women, a man and a women -- what does it mean?  All I know is that this dance, which I've seen twice holds me mezmerized with the beauty these two women portray and makes me think  about it for a very long time afterward.

Such beautiful art.