“Dad, am I going to get gonorrhea?” asked the attentive — too attentive! — girl at intermission. It’s not a question a father expects to hear from his 5-year-old daughter. I choked on a gulp of air as I considered “appropriate” answers. Because, “You’ll never be around boys! NEVER! NEVER! NEVER!!!” is not an appropriate answer. Thanks, Broadway! e were in Tampa at a high school performance of “A Chorus Line” — my young sister’s final musical production before she cashes in her chips and hits the road for college. A last curtain call. My daughter loved the show — the singing, the dancing, seeing her aunt up there, and, of course, the racy monologues introducing her to fascinating new words. “Gonorrhea? Don’t worry. You DEFINITELY won’t get that.” For years we’ve been going to Tampa to take in my sister’s shows — big musicals, kids playing adults, singing, busted ear drums. All manner of high school mania. And now it’s over. Or is it just transferring to the next generation? As one chapter closes, another always opens. Because that night we raced back to St. Augustine, getting back at 2:30 in the morning, so my daughter could make her first children’s choir performance at Memorial Presbyterian. Her debut. Her first public performance. It has begun. At the beginning of the service, maybe a dozen little ones in blue robes with red collars — their flip-flops and Crocs poking out below — strolled up into the pulpit. She had been … Continue reading As one curtain falls, another one starts to rise