What one man learned when his daughter was harassed on Hennepin Avenue
Earlier this summer, my daughter participated in her first professional dance intensive, a rigorous training program. It wasn’t in New York or San Francisco or anywhere fancy. It was in Minneapolis at the Cowles Center on Hennepin Avenue. She was selected as the lone high school participant, a source of pride for her.
Her excitement gave her mother and me no small measure of joy, almost enough to erase the reminder that she is growing up and soon will make her way out into the world. We will see less of her. She will need less from us.
Our aspiring dancer is 14, about to enter her sophomore year of high school. We live in St. Paul, so my wife and I are raising a city mouse, wiser in the ways of the world than her country-mouse father was at her age.