Push, 2, 3
Twist, 2, 3
It’s never ending, this dance we do, my teen and I.
Close together, twist apart.
Careful not to tread on toes.
Sometimes my rhythm of a peaceful waltz or mellow acoustic must accommodate the unevenness of his 21st century Pop preference. Sometimes I have to sweat and yell and thrash about, simply to garner his attention.
At times, he manages to pause his music. He watches me strutting to my “old-time” songs. I can see his brain spinning; do I join her? Do I listen to her tunes? Is there space on my dance card for my mother?
At times, I manage to learn the lyrics to his favorite tune. I watch him enthusiastically throw himself into the beat. He can see my heart yearning; will he join me? Will I listen to his heart songs? Will I hear what is really being said behind the lyrics he knows so well?
We push apart and pull together and twirl, twirl, twirl…