Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Let me take you back.
1986. A middle school cafeteria. 300 or so 12 year olds danced around in the first real dance. The air hung heavy with Love's Baby Soft and AquaNet Hairspray. Whitney Houstan's "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" vibrated through the room.
There I was in a black and white dress, permed hair, and a smidge of makeup. Surrounded by my girl friends I whined and contemplated about how much I wanted to dance with a certain boy. A boy I had a crush on for months. We planned and talked and giggled and ran until one of my friends dragged me out of the girls room and over to him and asked him to dance with me. He did.
We danced for about 3/4 of the song--until he politely said he should return to his date since it was the last song of the night. I think I nodded. The girls and I ran back to the bathroom and you could hear the "oh-my-God-I-cant-believe you danced with him" all the way down the hall.
Yes. Pathetically uncool. That was my first dance.
Oddly enough I would dance with that boy again, as his date to the Junior Prom--but that was a long time away from that night. That night I was so uncool. I was 12.
Flash forward 24 years later.
My son stands in a banquet hall dressed in a shirt and tie. We are there for him to receive an award. He spies a girl out of the corner of his eye that he just adores in his karate class. He says to me--without hesitation or shyness or the patheticness I displayed years earlier--"Mom I going to ask her to dance with me." And he quickly turn and follows after her.
They emerge on the dance floor and dance with wild abandon. Smiles fill the room. There is no hesitation or awkwardness. Just dancing. For 20 minutes.
He accidentally falls- smashing his head on the wooden floor. He starts crying but pulls himself together for a split second to hug her goodbye as we dash out the door. Blood oozing...head swelling.
He ends up in the emergency room with a concussion. But all he can think about is those magical 20 minutes on the dance floor.