A Party Of Two

"It's surprising how much memory is built around things unnoticed at the time."

-- Barbara Kingsolver

Party punch for two in vintage martini glasses 9-21-14

"You can never go home again,

but the truth is you can never leave home,

so it's all right."

-- Maya Angelou

"Homecoming means more than kings and queens."

-- Unknown

When they get to be my age, most teenagers won't remember what they did at homecoming.

Mine will never forget.

Leo and his girlfriend Mackenna opted to forego last night's typical, sweat and hormone-drenched everyone-is-doing-it homecoming dance.

They still got dressed up and went out for a fancy dinner. But afterwards, they came back to our house, which Leo and I had transformed into a romantic, private little dance hall. 

We hung streamers from the ceiling.

We lined the "dance floor" with colored lights.

There were balloons and even punch in a punch bowl.

Leo made signs that said "Welcome to At Home Coming."

When he texted that they were on their way back from the restaurant, I lit the candles and put the dance music on -- an old album of my mom and dad's with Nat King Cole crooning "When I fall in Love," and "Stardust" and "Stay as Sweet As You Are." 

It made me feel really good to be Leo's wing man (or as he called me, his "wing nut.") And I was proud as hell of these two great kids who aren't afraid to break away from the crowd and say "fuck you" to popularity, and kings and queens, and alcohol and peer pressure and all that other high school bullshit, and take gentle care of their own happiness instead.

As a bonus, my husband and I had our own private party down in the basement with a stash of snacks, a cooler full of beverages, and a packed night of college football games on the big screen.

That was good too.

A Strong Guy To Do The Heavy Lifting

" ... but even strong women need an arm to lean on now and then."

-- J.D. Robb, Glory in Death

Leo and ballerina Barbie 6-13-14

"Strong people don't put others down. 

They lift them up."

-- Michael P. Watson

My son Leo goes lifting at the gym almost every day.

He goes there to lift heavy weights in order to get stronger for football so he can knock people down.

For the past several months, though, he's been doing a different kind of lifting.

He and his buddy, Mikey, signed up as danseurs for a mostly-girls dance academy that needed strong guy partners to lift the ladies in their season-ending show. 

Their show opened last night, and Leo made his dancing debut.

I was so proud of all the kids, and impressed as hell. But I was especially proud of and impressed by my big, strong, athletic boy who showed his brute strength in a softer, gentler, more elegant way as he gracefully lifted, held, supported and spun lithe, lovely dancers in leotards, satin toe shoes and tulle.

Most of the girls in the program have been dancing for years -- some of them their entire young lifetimes.

But Leo and Mikey were first-timers. Beginners. Rookies. You'd never know it. They danced with poise, maturity, sensitivity, confidence and seemingly effortless strength. The girls trusted the guys' strong arms and athleticism to hold them securely, and they did. The two of them even busted out some pretty fancy footwork of their own.

Leo's strength showed the most though, in the tremendous courage it took to open himself to the unfamiliar, to step out and try something completely brand new, and to stick with it through months of long rehearsals in order to get it right, and then to do what he'd learned -- wearing nothing but a tunic and tights -- in front of hundreds of people. 

That's a kind of strong you can't get in any gym or weight room. That's the kind of strong that burns like a hot little blue flame in a magical mysterious place somewhere deep down inside some people. 

It was a beautiful thing to see in my son, and in every young dancer who took the stage.

Practice for the fall football season will start up pretty soon, and Leo will again shift his focus to knocking down the opposition. And that's cool. I am equally proud of him whether he's sacking a quaterback or carefully helping his partner hold a perfect Penché.

Either way, there's something pretty damned special about watching your own kid do something big and brave and beautiful. 

It's ... oh, what's the word I'm looking for?

Wait, I've got it.

Uplifting.