I timed my activities tonight so that I just happened to be in front of the TV for the last 1/2 hour or so of An American in Paris on TCM–enough to catch the Art Students’ Ball and the American in Paris ballet. I’m of the opinion that there is no sexier man on the screen than Gene Kelly in An American in Paris. And that is even considering that he does jazz hands while wearing yellow tights.

Despite living in the summer home of the American Dance Festival, I don’t see as much dance as I should. I almost always enjoy it thoroughly; it always promises a more enjoyable evening than live music. My own experience in dance is miniscule, but I got enough of a taste to give me an appreciation of the form.

In the last week I’ve been in a couple of conversations with fathers about the youthful avocations of their daughters. It’s gotten me thinking about the role played by various extracurricular activities in kids’ lives: whether piano lessons, little league, or what have you. In my case, I had a taste of ballet, modern dance, oil painting, printmaking, piano, guitar, chorus, theatre, swimming, tennis and basketball before the age of 18–and that’s just outside of school classes.

I’ve made my living as a graphic designer, so I guess that the art lessons came the closest to making a lifelong impact (the fact that my dad was teaching me to properly kern hand-drawn serif text for report covers in 5th grade might have helped). But I can’t say the others were a waste, either. I never pursued dance past a couple of classes in college, yet I begin my day with the same stretching exercises I learned from my dance teacher, Vic D’amore (really his name!) when I was a sophomore in high school. I have profound admiration for my friend Pete’s daughter, Kate, whose childhood ballet lessons led to a life touring the globe with Momix. But I also realize that most kids aren’t so lucky (or so focused): most childhood hobbies remain hobbies into adulthood, if they remain at all, or take some distorted form that enables one to retain a connection with art or music or theatre or athletics while still managing to live above the poverty line.

I’m grateful that I had the opportunity to try as many things as I did. Even the ones that I left at the side of the road taught me things: I’m not a ballerina, but I’m not a total spazz, either. I will never paint as well I dream, but I have a strong visual sense. I’m not competitive. I don’t need to be the center of attention. I don’t like racquet sports. I love the water.

All worthwhile lessons, even if I didn’t grow up to be a ballerina.