My girls love to dance. It’s not unusual to find them dressed in crazy outfits in my older daughter’s room at night grooving to tunes on her iPod.
Their stage is the ottoman. Their audience is the large mirror on the dresser, or more often, me. Sometimes I like to stand outside the room at night before I enter and just listen to them talk.
“It’s getting big!” my youngest daughter yells, referring to the part in the song where the beat becomes frantic and she follows suit. The irony is that she will only dance “big” in front of the immediate family. If we ask her do it in front of friends or extended family, she gets embarrassed.
She prefers to perform with a group and not be the center of attention. This is the opposite of her sister’s personality which demands attention from anyone who happens be in the vicinity. But I am impressed by my youngest daughter’s humility, and honored to be one of the only spectators allowed to see the show.
“I can’t wait,” I say, entering the room, “to see it getting big.”
The beat cranks up, and so does she. All the while she keeps looking at my face making sure that I am watching and smiling. Of course I am doing both. It is not about the quality of her dancing, per se, but it is about her infectious enthusiasm and energy. She
has told me on more than one occasion that she can’t control herself when she hears a good beat, that she has to dance, especially when it gets “big.”
Amanda is the mom of two, a reporter for WRAL-TV and the author of several books including two on motherhood, "Smotherhood" and "Girls Gone Child." Find her here on Mondays.