A Modern Day Footloose Tale

Instead of rural Iowa, our tale takes place in Philadelphia. The scene takes place in our family kitchen: I am at the stove chatting with the kids while making dinner. I can't even remember what the topic was but I started dancing. Not the hip-hop moves from my middle school days as a fan of Kid n Play. But not the ska-esque pogo that Clara's friends are fond of. I think it was a little dance of joy in response to their news from school. I guess my dance was more of the "raise the roof" ilk. Both of my feet were firmly planted. And yet, Manny burst, "Mom, stop. Mom, stop!"

This is not the first instance of him being embarassed of me. The first instance was at a friend's birthday party and I was serving cake and I said, "Mmmm, yum-arrific-a!" I guess it was a little to Rachel Ray for him or something because he hissed at me and locked his jaw, "Mom!" I think it's okay, though. Part of the individuation process. I so clearly remember him as a toddler in that phase where he thought we were the same person, one indivisible unit-- together to the park, nursing together in the chair, never apart. Even reading back in this blog's archives, this is evident. So naturally now, I invite the individuation process. I can see he is evaluating me, how the home tone is distinct from his classroom tone. How what his peers say would or wouldn't be said here at home. His parsing of the two worlds is how he will define himself.

I said, "Manny, what's wrong with my dancing?" He looked squarely at me, not even needing to find his words, "I don't like that dance because it's boastive." Geoff and I looked at eachother in a paralysis borne of cuteness and utter disbelief: Where did he get that word? Who is this child? How did we get so fortunate to have this child who just assembled that thought in his head? All of us, even Benicio and Clara and for God's sake even Calliope, knew that was hilarious. Since that incident, I have tried to isolate what exactly about that dance qualifies as "boastive." I think it has to do with the raising of the arms and my persistence in doing it. I have tried everything but basically, he seems to have a strong aversion to all moves boastive.

So for the record, it's not that dancing is forbidden to Manny. It's that a certain attitude that could be construed as "boastive" that he opposes. At our evening Advent prayer service, I had planned to read the passage from Ecclesiastes just as Kevin Bacon did but more on that in a minute. It turns out that Manny cut a veritable rug since the boastive-dancing fury took place. If you want to know what moves he does sanction, you can look to Benicio who has the side-step of Nadal at the baseline. He has the energy and concentration of a Fame dancer but the machismo of a beat boy. Although, Manny's moves are more subdued, he has some break-dancing spins and can definitely shuffle along with G-love.

We lit the pink candle on the Advent wreath yesterday. But tonight, I went to an evening yoga class. When I got home, Geoff had fed and bathed the kids, as well as held our evening Advent prayers. When I ascended the stairs, I found my Clara in her PJ's and robe (so like my Mom) sitting in her chair, "You missed lunch (meaning to say dinner) and Advent!" That is the most bizarre feeling, having roles reversed like that. With a three-year old. I explained that I needed to exercise, to be alone, and that I was here now. In that moment, I had this flashback to my adolescence, standing there confronted, searching to articulate my own defense.

As Ren McCormack stood with his friends and read that passage, "To everything there is a season, and
a time to every purpose under heaven: . . . .A time to weep, and
a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and
a time to dance;

And I would add: a time for Mom to go to Produce Junction by herself, a time to take a yoga class, and by God's grace, a time for her, if she wishes, to dance boastively, should she so choose.