Listening to the wind of his soul, as Cat Stevens once sang, and letting the music take him where his heart wants to go, it’s Thing2’s time to dance, as it is every night after his homework is done and before dinner is ready. With the Big Guy’s borrowed iPod and and my old ear buds, he leaps and twirls, shakes, rattles and rolls, his eyes half closed as he translates the music into motion.
An angelic smile lights his face as he looks at the Big Guy for approval. The Big Guy is bemused. Thing2 turns to me for non-verbal feedback, but his gaze falls first upon Goliath, still steeped in homework at the round pedestal kitchen table. Always willing to be a distracted from his studies, Goliath has stopped to watch our private performance. His face is a study in preteen angst. A smile lurks, but the fear that this performance might be repeated in public also knits his brow.
Thing2, unsure of Goliath’s evaluation, stops mid pirouette. He stares at his big brother as another one song ends. When he finds his tongue, it is not nearly as dextrous as his feet.
“WHAT?!?” he demands. Goliath shrugs and bows his head over his book again, and the Big Guy and I worry the time to dance has ended. But the dance continues until the last plate has been set at the dinner table. Thing2’s monosyllabic outburst was not a question after all; it was statement that he will be who he will be as long as the music keeps playing.