WHAT MOMS DO
My Mom (1949-2006):
The marathoner in dance shoes.
My earliest childhood memories alternate
between her living room dance practices
and public performances.
I grew up around Native American, European folk, and ballet,
and Mom danced 'til sweat poured down her face.
’Cuz that's what Moms do, right?
Flamenco:
The traditional dance of pasión y dolor.
I remember falling asleep at Mom's feet
while she sewed her flowing, red dress train.
I grew up wondering how her fingernails made
castañetas and shawls swirl into storms,
encouraged by audience's Olé!, clapping and stomping.
’Cuz that's what Moms do.
Classical Hindu:
The dance of Mom's second heart home, India.
My childhood knew every color of sari, scent of incense,
and ways to practice veil work.
I grew up feeling sitar, tabla and doumbek drums,
and associated beauty with long black hair and finger cymbals.
'Til Mom's hand mudras told epic tales.
That's what Moms do.
Belly Dance:
”My Mom is a belly dancer.”
It’s how Mom's stage name, Shoshanna Rose, arose.
I fell asleep watching Mom embroider gold sequins on costumes.
I grew up thinking all Moms danced
with snakes, swords and sparkled veils.
'Til sweat poured down her face.
What Moms do.
My Mom:
The anthropologist who studied
why humans have danced for centuries,
and what it means.
The endurance athlete who outlasted
a closet full of every dance shoe.
The performer who refocused pasión
into teaching spiritual dance.
Mom, I thought they were all like you.
Reality sunk painfully deep in 1983
when the whole 5th and 6th grades
crowded into the gym for "aerobics class".
I knew songs from the new Flashdance soundtrack
and practiced the routine in our living room,
so I rather fancied myself the only kid
who could keep up with our guest instructor: Mom.
Afterwards, my classmates returned
down the hallway in perspiring exhilaration.
A group of boys gathered in hushed chatter.
As I approached, someone yelled,
"You guys, that was Scott's Mom!"
I realized two things that day:
(1) Boys learn at early ages to objectify women;
(2) My Mom was one-of-a-kind,
a hummingbird, a most unique woman,
a woman who people would tell me all my life
had more talent in her pinky
than they had in their whole bodies,
a woman who God broke the mold after creating.
Maybe so. I love Mom the same. | SB