Still here. Sort of.


So it’s May 22, 2011- the day that will go down in history as when 99.999% of the population was proven right… again. It would be easy to take shots at the May 21 rapture theorists. Too easy. Like shooting fish in a barrel. (which would actually be hard for me because I’ve never even held a gun.) Let me just leave it as yet another example that a text without a context is just a pretext for whatever you want it to be. (that’s a quote from someone whom I can’t remember who was quoting someone else whom I can’t remember)

Except this weekend did mark the end of something. Small as it may be, it was monumental for the little Dale family that I call my own. For the 25th and last year in a row, one of us has taken part in Kathy Leonard’s dance recital. My older sister Kate started as a pre-schooler and today my little sister Paige is a high school senior. Now, with all that time and training, dance has only been a fun hobby for all of us and we’ve remained above-average-at-best. None of us have ever been paid to dance in any capacity (a testament, also, to our dad’s ability to love us).

This isn’t the biggest shift a family can make. I know for a fact that it’s not even the biggest shift my family will make this year. But it’s impossible to leave it unnoticed. Kathy herself made an announcement before the recital about the milestone, and it probably dumbfounded some of the families who are just now learning the ropes of tutus, sequences, and backstage jitters.

And as a friend pointed out on facebook, it was sort of a mini-rapture. Sort-of. Very mini. I don’t know what exactly defines a real rapture, but this final recital is the end of something good to move on to something even better.

We could focus a lot of energy on the crazy behind May 21 rapture theories. It’s a mixture of crazy and arrogance that is, let’s face it, highly entertaining. The Hollywood-esque apocalypse on many people’s minds is also entertaining. But the danger for those of us with an ounce of thinking skills comes in missing the real raptures, tiny as they may be. The jubilant, celebratory endings of a bygone era. A final curtain call, if you will.


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