I Wish You Could See Him Dance

Every other step a balance check, hands waving, knees bobbing, head shaking, on the edge of control with no rhythm but his own. Smiling, clapping, shouting: " Dance party!! We're having a dance party in the kitchen!!"

And I forget that an hour earlier he had me in tears, as Nick carried him to his room while he grunted and shouted, "Noooo!!!" Hell bent on destroying his sister's "house", determined to steal her brown fleece blanket and claim it as his own, he had swung his arms at me when I stopped him, my brow furrowed, jaw clenched, I walked away with my hands over my face, frustrated that yet another Friday night felt ruined.

"Do you want to dance with me?" Elias asks after quiet time in his room. No Olive in sight. No Nick. Just me and my son.

"Yes, yes I do." And I throw my arms in the air, shake my hips, swing my hair, and dance as if every step will erase the moments before. Will release my need for him to feel sorry for his hurtful actions that seem both within and beyond his control.

I stomp my feet, whip my hair and Elias asks, "What are you doing?"

"Dancing."

"What am I doing?" Elias bounces his knees, his version of jumping, and shakes his hands at the wrists.

"You tell me." I shimmy towards the fridge.

Elias turns his head from side to side. "Mom what kind of dance move is this?"

"You have to name your own dance moves, Bud. I'm just moving my body to the music however feels right."

"Me too!"

And we rock out to John Mellencamp, music from my youth, under the kitchen lights, until a slow song plays and Elias leans into me.

"Do you want to learn how to slow dance?"

"Yeah."

I put one of his arms around my waist, my hand on his shoulder and grab his other hand. His legs become jelly and he falls into me.

"You need to stand on your own," Nick says, as he walks through the kitchen to check on Olive.

I try again, this time just holding his hands and attempt to teach him the box step. "Step forward, one two, side, one two, back, one two, side..." Again he leans into me, his legs just hanging from his hips as I drag him around the square.

"Stand tall Elias, on your own, now step towards the table one, two. Now fridge, one two. Sink, one, two, now oven on two. Table one two, fridge, one, two, sink, one, two, oven..."

He's smiling now and doing the steps on his own, standing tall, laughing, as I name the familiar objects.

When the song ends he says, "I got an idea."

"Yeah?"

"Let's do oven, fridge, sink, table."

"OK. Ready? Oven, one two, fridge, one two, sink, one two, table..."

And this is how we dance, following a map of our kitchen, changing the pattern up to add a wall, a five step jig that shifts the energy of our house from heavy to light, making it a little less stressful of a Friday night.

But oh, how I wish you could see him dance.

Comments

[Kate]

Me too. Love it.

[Shelley]

Good for you for being able to move past the earlier ugliness and boogie with your boy! Sometimes I have trouble with that myself when my kiddos hurt me. Of course I realize I am the adult...but hurt feelings are hurt feelings no matter how old you are.

[Christy]

Shelley, I can't always move beyond and yet Elias, once he's calmed down, always acts as if nothing just happened. I long for him to feel remorse but I'm beginning to realize this may not be possible for awhile, if ever. I think I wrote about this moment b/c dancing is what helped me move on; I was still frustrated with him when he asked but I've always loved to dance and so thought what the hell. And the act of us doing it together helped me more than I could have predicted.

[Shelley]

This time you were able to do it! It can't be easy and it wasn't, but you did. Take that little victory for yourself.