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Phyllis Chesler
Books By Phyllis

Each and every year we troop over to the Kaye Playhouse at Hunter College to see my two darling descendants dance divinely to classical ballet as well as to Broadway and hip hop music. There they are, ageless, with flowers in their hair and wearing lipstick, two sisters whom Renoir could easily have painted in chiffon with satin sashes in one of his harmonious domestic settings. All four doting grandparents brought bunches of flowers for the dancers. When I was six, the ballet teacher told my mother to take me home because I wanted to make speeches, not dance. Clearly, the woman was a prophet! And now my granddaughters are delightfully dedicated to the the steps, the teachers, the classes. The theater was jam-packed with parents and grandparents (armed with cameras and cellphones) and we all exited slightly dazed as if in a dream on this hot and sunny day.