Dancing. Disciplined wiggling. I used to love to go to dances when I was a kid. I'm sure I wan't much of a dancer but that didn't matter much to me. I THOUGHT I was good and that was enough. A few years ago a friend of mine was performing in a park in San Diego (Nenyi - Native Vibe) and we ended up dancing and really having a great time. I remember at that time thinking that I must like dancing yet I never sought it out. My smokin' hot wife doesn't dance either - nor does she like it - nor does she think of doing it. We're compatible in SOOOOO many ways.
I've seen good dancers and bad dancers. I fit into the category non-dancer. I can effectively do the "Whiteman's Overbite" dance and the "Air Guitar" dance. I have the secret weapon I call the "Embarrassing Daddy" dance. I bust this move once in a while to refresh the threat of its continued use.
When my daughters dance it is heaven to me. When most anyone else dances around me I feel a little queasy. But when my girls dance - and I think they have actual skills, not just being seen through rose-colored daddy glasses - I am moved. They have such grace, athletic ability, and natural talent (and in some cases, formal training) that gives me joy. The technical aspects of dancing become meaning less under these circumstances. I think they are the best in the world. I love them to death. The boy too, by the way.
I think dancing rituals should be reinstated - as long as they are performed by my daughters and I can view them from the comfort of my recliner.
1 comment:
And you can Skype me in!
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