Stan came home from work. He stepped into the kitchen and saw his wife, Molly, cooking dinner. He glanced around but didn’t see his son, Mike, anywhere.

“Wow, something smells great,” Stan said as he walked over to Molly and kissed her on the cheek.

“Thanks,” Molly smiled. “I wanted to make something special for you and Mike,” she added, nodding toward the oven. Inside, a roast chicken was cooking. Molly had been staying home ever since Mike was born.

Stan had asked her to leave her job so she could focus on their family. Stan liked things to be the way he grew up.

“You’re amazing,” Stan said, giving her a warm look. “Is Mike upstairs in his room?”

Molly shook her head. “No, he’s not home yet.”

Stan frowned. “He’s been out late a lot this week. Do you think he’s got a girlfriend?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Molly let out a short laugh. “A girlfriend? Stan, he’s only eleven. The only thing he’s thinking about is finishing that new video game.”

Stan chuckled. “And how do you know that for sure?”

“I’m with him all day, remember?”

Stan raised his hands. “Alright, you got me there.”

Mike walked into the house while Stan and Molly were already at the table. He headed for his room, but Stan stopped him.

“Mike!” Stan called out.

“Yeah, Dad?” Mike replied, stepping into the kitchen.

“Aren’t you hungry? Dinner’s ready,” Stan said, looking at him.

“I’m starving, but I need to change my clothes first,” Mike answered, already turning toward the stairs.

“Okay, but don’t take too long.”

Mike left and came back a few minutes later. He had changed into shorts, but Stan noticed something unusual.

“Hold on, what happened to your knees? Where did you get those bruises?” Stan asked.

Mike glanced down at his legs. “Oh, these? I just fell,” he said quickly.

“Just fell?” Stan’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been coming home late, and now you’ve got bruises. You’re not telling us everything, are you?” he asked, his voice firmer now.

“I swear, Dad, I just fell,” Mike said again, sounding a bit nervous.

“Stan, he’s a boy,” Molly said, jumping in. “You used to get bruises too, remember?”

Stan looked at Mike again. “If that’s true, why are you coming home so late these days?” he asked.

Mike stood a little straighter. “We’ve been doing our homework at the library, so we don’t have to do it at home,” he explained quickly, as if he’d already rehearsed the answer.

Mike’s late nights were bothering Stan more and more. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. “What’s he really doing?” he wondered.

He finally decided to find out for himself. One day, he took off from work early and drove straight to Mike’s school.

First, Stan went to the library, where Mike said he and his friends were doing homework. But when he walked in, the room was empty. Not a single student in sight.

His heart sank, and his suspicion grew. “I knew it, he’s lying!” he thought, clenching his jaw. He was about to head back to the car and call Mike when he heard something—music. It was faint, but it was coming from the gym.

Stan followed the sound and pushed open the gym doors. His eyes widened. There was a ballet class in full swing. Girls in leotards twirled and danced gracefully.

And then, to his shock, he saw Mike. He was dancing too, right there with them! Stan couldn’t believe it. “Is my son really doing THIS?” he thought, frozen in the doorway.

“MIKE!” Stan’s voice boomed across the gym.

Mike froze, his eyes wide as he turned toward the door. “Dad?” he whispered, his face pale. He quickly stopped dancing.

“What are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that? In tights?” Stan yelled, his voice full of anger and confusion.

Everyone in the gym turned to look at Stan—Mike’s classmates and even the coach. They were all shocked by the scene.

“Dad, I can explain!” Mike stammered, his voice shaking. “It’s just dancing! I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“It’s ballet! That’s for girls!” Stan barked, his face red with frustration.

“But boys can dance too!” Mike defended.

The coach stepped in. “That’s right. Boys do ballet, and Mike is one of my best students. He’s doing an excellent job.”

Stan shook his head, furious. “No! My son is not doing ballet!” He walked toward Mike, grabbed his arm, and pulled him out of the gym.

“Dad, please! You don’t understand! I love dancing!” Mike cried as they headed for the door.

Stan didn’t stop. He kept pulling Mike along, dragging him to the car. Mike sobbed all the way home.

“Stop crying. You’re not a girl. This dancing is making you soft. You need to act like a man,” Stan said sternly.

As soon as they parked, Mike jumped out of the car and ran straight to his room, not saying a word. Stan followed him into the house. He looked frustrated, but he didn’t speak.

Molly stood in the kitchen, watching them. She gave Stan a worried look, sensing something was wrong, but he ignored it and headed to the living room.

Hours passed, and the house stayed quiet. Stan sat on the couch, thinking. Then, he heard footsteps. He looked up and saw Molly and Mike getting ready to leave. Mike had a sports bag slung over his shoulder, his eyes red from crying earlier.

“Get in the car, honey. I’ll talk to your dad,” Molly said softly, and Mike nodded, walking out the door.

Stan frowned. “What’s going on? Where are you taking him?” he asked.

Molly sighed. “Mike asked to stay at a friend’s house for a few days. He has a performance coming up in two days, and you wouldn’t let him go.”

Stan shook his head. “Of course I wouldn’t! He’s doing BALLET! How is that normal?”

Molly stayed calm. “It’s just dancing, Stan. He loves it. It makes him happy.”

Stan’s face tightened. “You’re telling me you knew all along? You let him do this behind my back?”

Molly looked at him, her eyes sad. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Mike wanted to invite you to his performance. He wanted to tell you himself, but now you’ve ruined that chance.”

Stan threw his hands up in frustration. “What kind of reaction was I supposed to have? What kind of man will he be if he keeps doing this?”

Molly looked at him firmly. “He’s your son, Stan. You should support him, no matter what. Dancing doesn’t change who he is. I’ll be back soon.” She turned and left the house.

Stan knew there was one person who would understand his frustration: his father, Jerry. He picked up the phone and called him.

“Dad, you won’t believe this,” Stan started. “Mike’s been doing ballet.”

Jerry’s voice was firm on the other end. “Ballet? Boys don’t do ballet. That’s girly stuff.”

“I thought so too,” Stan replied. “I didn’t want him involved in it.”

“If you can’t stop him, I will,” Jerry continued. “You don’t want him growing up like that. It’s our job to make sure he stays on the right path.”

Stan felt a weight on his chest. “I’ll handle it, Dad,” he said quietly.

Jerry chuckled. “Remember when you wanted to take piano lessons? Same thing. I said no son of mine would do that, and that was the end of it. You didn’t take those lessons, did you?”

Stan paused. He had almost forgotten. “Yeah, I remember. Alright, Dad. I’ve got to go,” he replied and hung up.

When Stan was younger, he had really wanted to take piano lessons. It started when one of his teachers showed him how to play a simple tune during break time.

Stan liked the way his fingers moved across the keys, and the sound of the notes made him feel calm. Excited, he rushed home and asked his father if he could sign up for lessons.

But his father didn’t react the way Stan had hoped. “Piano lessons? That’s not something boys should be doing,” his father had said sharply. “You’re not going to waste time on that. It’s not for men.”

Stan had felt crushed. He didn’t argue, and the idea of piano lessons quickly faded. But as the years passed, he sometimes wondered how things might have turned out if his father had said yes.

For the two days that Mike was away, Stan stayed quiet. He didn’t talk to anyone and spent most of his time thinking.

The night of Mike’s performance, Molly came downstairs, ready to leave. She looked at Stan, who was sitting on the couch.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to see Mike’s performance?” Molly asked gently.

Stan didn’t look up. “No,” he said flatly.

Molly sighed, standing there for a moment. “Alright,” she said softly. She picked up her keys and walked out of the house, leaving Stan alone with his thoughts.

Stan paced back and forth around the house, his mind racing. He kept asking himself if he had made the right choice. Should he go to Mike’s performance or stay home like he said he would?

He thought about everything—what his father would say, how Mike might feel. He just didn’t know what the right thing to do was.

After what felt like forever, Stan found himself grabbing his car keys. Without thinking much more, he got into the car and started driving. He headed straight for Mike’s school, his heart pounding. He didn’t want to miss it.

When he got to the school, Stan rushed inside, almost running down the hallway. He reached the gym and saw it was full.

Every seat was taken. He didn’t let that stop him. He walked closer to the stage, trying to get a good view.

Stan stood there, watching as Mike danced across the floor. The coach had been right—Mike was really good. Stan felt a sense of pride as he watched his son.

At one point, Mike spotted him and looked nervous. Stan quickly gave him a thumbs-up, and Mike’s worried face turned into a smile.

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This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer