Hates Music, Hates to Dance, But...

When he first mentioned wanting to perform at the school's annual talent show this year, I didn't think he was very serious. So I let it pass. 

He had brought it up last year, too. But because the only talent he could think to show off was his impressive prowess at escaping Endermen and destroying Creepers in Minecraft, he was merely a spectator that year. 

About a week after first talking about it, my fourth-grade son again mentioned his plans to try out for the show. This time I needed to listen. 

He said he wanted to sing as his talent. In the last few months, my first-born has discovered YouTube music videos specific to his interests in video games. It turns out there are playlists full of Linkin Park and Evanescence songs set to Minecraft play, as well as songs written specifically for the weird characters of Rainbow Friends in Roblox. The one for Purple is his favorite. He wanted to sing one of those songs, one that had words appropriate for school. 

But, until he stumbled across these, he had hated singing and all kinds of music. Pop, concert music, Kids Bop -- he disliked all of it, loudly and consistently, and openly avoided it. 

As a result, his singing is...a work in progress. Like a just-hatched baby bird, he needs some time to figure out what his wings are for, grow some feathers, and strengthen his legs before he tries to take his first flight. 

My sweet nestling needed to learn some pitches instead of reciting in monotone. Find a rhythm. Learn all the words to the Minecraft-co-opted songs, instead of just the last two words in a line. 

I didn't think trying for the talent show was a good idea. And I had to tell him so. 

Before bed one night last month, I gently explained that while he has many talents -- kindness, his long-jump off a moving swing, diving for toys at the pool -- none of those translate well into a performance. The classmates who would sing or dance or juggle have probably been doing these activities for a while, practicing and polishing. I told him I didn't think he was ready yet.

And he cried. Hard sobs shook his skinny body in the dark. My mama's heart broke when he said he wanted to do it so he "could show the popular kids that he's not somebody to be laughed at."

Oh, my sweetheart. 

Remembering my own feelings of isolation and rejection as a kid (and now), I explained that he is worthy of friendship and admiration just because he is himself. He doesn't have to prove himself to anyone, not even a cluster of kids in homeroom. But this is a lesson it will take him years to learn.

Over the next several days, he reluctantly came to accept that this wasn't his year for the talent show.  

Two weeks later, the school hosted an assembly featuring mascots from the local major league baseball team -- Slider, a shaggy purple...something...with yellow spots, plus much-larger-than-life Ketchup, Mustard, and Onion guys. The assembly was all about staying active and moving your body, and it was to include music and a dance party. 

If there's anything my boy child dislikes more than music, it's dancing. He also doesn't like baseball. Or big crowds that make a lot of noise in a cavernous school gym. 

He resented having to attend the assembly. I told him it wasn't optional.

School wasn't even out that Thursday before I received a surprising video. 

My son was wearing noise-canceling headphones, in a gym full of kids, not wanting to participate in the dance party, when Mustard picked him out of the crowd and called him to the middle of the floor for a dance off.

He was to compete against three other students and a teacher who had also been picked by condiments, a cheerleader, and a hairy polka-dotted...something. 

The first boy energetically completed a cartwheel ending with a back flip and stuck the landing. Onion's girl did a round-off with two back hand-springs that ended in the splits. Ketchup's girl jumped and wiggled to the beat, twirling in circles. Slider and a teacher did some swing dancing that ended with a rear-end wiggle toward the crowd (mostly by Slider). 

And then there was my boy, who hates music and hates dancing.

For reasons I may never understand, he decided to go for it. In front of hundreds of students, he threw himself onto the gym floor. With unbridled enthusiasm and a complete lack of self-consciousness, he started gyrating and twisting in his own approximation of breakdancing. 

He thrust his legs into the air. He spun on his back. He rolled sideways in four circles, then stood and jumped up and down on his toes, then did a surprisingly good cartwheel. He followed that with more jumps to the beat, his arms thrown up in the air. The emcee chanted his name while the kids erupted in cheers and music thumped through the gym. 

Busting the moves

When the time came for the emcee to declare a winner, he picked my son, and the gym roared with approval. My child, who had wanted so badly to impress his classmates, was off his rocker with excitement.

Then the emcee told him to "do it one more time," so he breakdanced again -- while the students in the stands clapped, chanted his name, and cheered for him. 

I'm not embarrassed to tell you I cried. 

My child who often feels left out had his moment to shine after all, in his own unique way, and I don't think he'll ever forget it.