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The Secret Dancer

The secret dancer
My daughter, Evie, was born with the music in her. As a baby, we would prop her up on the bench of the electric piano and watch her groove to the beatbox. As a toddler, she would stagger up to the analogue piano and join me in my practice. One of my fondest memories occurred when Evie was at that most wonderful of all ages – old enough to be self-aware, but not yet self-conscious. I was practicing the piano in the dining room which was against a wall that separated the dining room from the kitchen. I could not see the kitchen from my seat on the piano bench, but I could see out the wall of kitchen windows. I was concentrating on a piece that I loved but found difficult. This meant that I had probably played the same piece about ten times in the space of half an hour, something that I know can be annoying to people who are not my parents. While I played, I noticed movement in the kitchen window which had become reflective as the sun had set. It was the reflection of Evie dancing alone in the kitchen, thinking no one could see her. She was graceful and beautiful and moved so freely. I never again felt guilty for practicing while the family was home.