I Have No Hip In My Hop

I saw the sign as I drove into town. The Arts Center was hosting a free hip hop class just for boys. This was screaming Micah's name as loudly as Micah talks (that's pretty loud, really). I mean, the boy loves to dance. He has memorized every dance move he's ever seen displayed. His repertoire includes The Sprinkler, The Worm, The Wave, The Robot, many Elvis moves, and the classic waltz, among many MANY others. If he's seen once, he rewinds, memorizes, and mimics.

He would absolutely love hip hop class.

Tonight, Micah and I drove to Hip Hop for Boys, and I had my camera in tow, because I knew the photos I'd bring home from that would be stellar. The boy can get down.

Luke was not with us, so Micah was not as comfortable as he could have been. Luke is his safety blanket, so he was a bit out of his element. I opted to stay in class with him for a few minutes to get him started. Plus, being Micah's mom, I'm always a bit concerned about the boy and his interaction with strangers. He's nonverbal, you know. And I'm his mom. It's my job to help him find his way in the world.

I stood by the wall as Micah joined the class. He broke out right from the start with The Worm. The teacher was a bit impressed that someone other than the one boy who attends pre-school there was comfortable enough to actually move. At all. And I was just about to step out and let Micah enjoy the class when the door opened and one of the moms stepped in. She called over Pre-School Boy, reminded him that he needed to pay attention to the teacher or he'd be leaving the class post haste, and stepped out again.

This was the point where things went downhill for both Micah and I. Micah realized that he stood a chance of getting yelled at. His confidence crashed and burned, and he came to sit by me. I realized that the class was live on the large screens in the waiting room for every parent to watch their precious offspring hipping and hopping. Or making an attempt at it.

Micah would not leave my side, so I had no choice but to move out onto the dance floor with him. And then he kept asking to go potty, or go home, or if it was over yet. And the only way I could keep him even engaged was to dance along with the teacher, showing Micah that class participation was a good thing.

People, I am the reason the phrase "white people can't dance" exists. I have less than no rhythm. It is a physical impossibility for me to clap my hands and sing at the same time. I kid you not. I can tap a foot, or keep beat with one hand, but not clap. When I attempt to clap while singing, bad things happen. I make Seinfeld's Elaine look good at a dance. I just cannot get into a groove, unless I fall into one, and then I'm wallowing on the floor. Literally.

Do you remember that the class was live on the large screens in the waiting room for all the parents to watch? I do.

I tried to minimize my movements. I would begin a move, then once Micah followed suit, I'd quietly stand by and watch. The boy is sadistic. If I wasn't making a grand effort with all my limbs, he would move them for me. I'm here to testify that every last boy in the class, no  matter his age (and Micah was one of the older ones, at 9), had way more rhythm than I did. PATHETIC.

And just about time I realized that the parents have already seen me, and they now know that I have no hip in my hop, and I may as well suck it up and just dance (if that's what you can call it), things got worse. OH YES, THEY DID. Not only were we stepping to the left, and stepping to the right, and doing the Wave (WHICH I CANNOT DO. Oh my gosh, I really can't dance. AT ALL.), we now had to hop.

People, my kids wreaked havoc on my bladder. It was weak before I had kids, but after 4 kids trounced it in uterus, I have little control over it now. Sneezing will make me have to change my undies if I forget to cross my legs, so you can only imagine what something like running or jumping will do. Hopping is jumping, and is actually way worse than something like jumping over a mud puddle. I did not come prepared to hop, if you know what I mean. And I was not about to sport a growing wet spot with every parent watching me on the big screen. I simply did not hop. I was the mom with all hip. (A mirror adds 10 pounds. The room was lined with them. OH MY GOSH, THE HIPS.)

When it was time to leave, we were the first to make a hasty retreat. We ran by the parent waiting room, bolted for the front door, and didn't stop to collect $200 as we passed Go. We just went. If you see a YouTube video of a hippy mom with no rhythm in a class full of small boys, IT'S NOT ME.

I have no photos. THANK GOODNESS.