From Ballet Tulles to Hip Hop Rules...and Why I Owe Eminem a Big Thank You

Here's a simple and yet challenging thought: if something is of interest to your child, it should be of interest to you. Take salamanders, for instance. I lived thirty-nine years on this big blue ball without touching a one of these squirmy, moisty, stream-lined, amphibians. One day when our daughter was around five she paused near a rivulet that ran parallel to a walking trail near a local college campus. She stooped to gently overturn several rocks,stood erect with outstretched arm, and proffered the muddy little squirmer. There was no question how to respond. We complimented her on her keen eyesight, her awareness of habitat, her careful treatment of the critter; then we told her to put it and the rocks back in place. When she asked us to pet it, we complied. When she asked to bring it home, we denied. Simple. Leave the creature to his habitat.



About seven years later our daughter was still charmed by the outdoors and wild-life. We celebrated one of her birthdays at the Maine Wild Life Preserve in Gray, Maine. Although she was a good student with interests in drawing, piano and writing; it was apparent a fascination with a different form of wild life was on the horizon. His name, or one of them, was Eminem.



We love kids; we have a particular empathy for girls. When she asked to go to Wal-Mart-because there, she assured us, we could find an edited CD, we were concerned. What was edited? What was his attitude toward women? She'd described him as a rapper, a protege of a Dr. Dre, whose stamp of approval was to her mind a positive. I thought we had limited the MTV and VH1; television and computer time were restricted and monitored, somewhat for content, but mostly because kids need fresh air and activity.



We faced a challenge. How we spoke to one another and to our daughter was important to us. We were not innocent of a swear word here or there. Certainly they were in our cerebrums;albeit restrained by social mores and moral choice. My parents and my husband's mother were careful in their speech as we were reared. My Mom, if Dad, a woodcutter, was errant, would warn him sternly to keep his "language" in the woodlot "...where it belonged!"



We decided to trust her. We began to ask questions. Eminem, we were assured, was a loving father of a little girl. She deemed him a talented writer. I began to focus in when she and her friends turned up the radio in the car, when his video played, or she was playing her CD in her bedroom. I was impressed by the first song of his I heard, "Lose Yourself". The character in the song admits to severe nerves as he readies for a rap contest. He desires to make a better life for his daughter. He feels trapped in what he describes as a Salem's Lot. Eminem rendered rhyme the way he made heavy/spaghetti;reality/gravity;cypher/piper poetry by placement in the lyrics or simply the beat and rhythm of his rendition. I saw imaginative cultural references. He was something I much admire, a good writer.



She pinned his posters up in her room. There he was with pictures of horses, clippings of Angelina Jolie and a portrait of our Lord Jesus. I rather liked that. Her behavior was good; her schoolwork was exceptional. We had misgivings, but decided to allay them. Then came the newspaper ad that led our daughter dance step to dance step; teacher to teacher; performance to performance; from the cobble-stoned streets of our river city to the cobble-stoned streets of her beloved Boston.



Hip Hop Classes were to be offered in an old opera house, Johnson Hall, a cultural center in our downtown. The two teachers of R & B Dance were graduates of our fine University of Maine system. We signed her and a neighborhood friend up. We look back on that decision as pivotal, a blessing out poured and outpouring. "R" and "B" were gregarious, creative, joyous young women, both the epitome of elan. Our daughter progressed from that basic introduction to hip hop to technique, tap, ballet, modern and a spot in the company. Her years with "R" and "B" were a healthy counterpoint to academics. We were impressed that her civic minded teachers found numerous service and cultural avenues to integrate their young charges into the life of our community.



"R" and "B" got her up on her toes...en pointe and in tulle for a performance to Johnny Cash's version of John Lennon's "In My Life ". As she danced a solo, the backdrop was a photo montage of us, grandparents, cousins, best friend and boy friend. She graduated High School that evening. She turned eighteen the next day. As I watched my daughter interpret the haunting choreography "R" and "B" created as a surprise for us, and as a salute to their first Senior, my gratitude to her teachers, immense as it was, could not yet cover the scope the gift of their training would soon encompass.



We cherished a fleeting summer with her before the early, warm September day we toted her belongings to the woodsy, gracious grounds of Pine Manor College, a women's school, situated in Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts. She desired a close proximity to Boston. Check. She wanted diversity. Check. She wanted a communications program. Check. And she wanted to minor in dance. Big Check. Her body, mind, spirit and soul were imbued with the muse of dance. Although she found the discipline late, comparatively, for a dancer; it was as ingrained as her love of Bailey Island, Friendly's chicken salad with mustard dressing, or her cat Scout. Dance was a definer in her young life.



In February we filled our van with family and friends for an evening ride to her campus for a
Pine Manor College Dance Ensemble presentation of "Dare To Be " With the guidance of their dance director, a tiny, physically taut terpsichorean, the young women presented both modern and hip hop styles featuring members of two groups within the ensemble: Satin and Silk and Ribbon and Lace. Most of the dances featured student choreography.



It was as lovely to watch our daughter in a milieu of supportive friends( dancers and audience were enthusiastically engaged), as it was to observe her progress since last year. Somehow, I feel hopeful and invigorated when I leave that college. There is plentiful beauty in the radiance of confident young women in creative bloom.



There's something ethereal in ballet tulles, but I can see that for my little girl...hip hop rules. The time spent in the dance studio sharpens and complements the time she spends in her various writing disciplines. I can only thank you Eminem, man with a Daddy's heart.

Blogging 101 i.e. Niece tutors Aunt

My niece Julie,25, is here for a visit today. This is precious time because she works full-time at a bank, is married, and keeps an active schedule. She is one of the most joyful creatures I've ever known. I don't mean that she is a Pollyanna (though I loved the film), or that she views the world through rose-colored (albeit stylish glasses), but that she is ever hopeful.

She is on vacation,but saved a day to help her aunt create a blog. She has been v-e-r-y patient. We have had company. Our border collie mix,Sprite, and a slightly cross-eyed kitty named Luca have been hovering about as we try to work comfortably from the carpet.

We had a great lunch at the A1 Diner. This establishment has been well-reviewed over the years. There is so much history and even a book about this local treasure. We both had the macaroni and cheese. So simple,so classic,so good. Julie is a vegetarian and I am trying. She is diligent. I miss bacon and hot dogs. The Quorn brand of meat substitute helps me not miss chicken. The Boca burgers help me not miss red meat.

Today is glorious weather. I'm glad mostly for my daughter Alex who has endured some nasty wind, rain, and snow squalls in Boston of late. As a student she often rides the T; just as often she walks. One day she came home to little black freckles all over her pretty face. Her mascara couldn't hold up to the assault of a squall as she hurried from campus to a Tstop. Julie has to go. She's helped me make a beginning. I'm so eager to share my lovely state of Maine with you and my state of mind. My husband, who is a teacher(read-hero) is painting today. Many teachers have a second job. So, I'll walk my moody little Katrina survivor dog and figure out a supper plan that doesn't involve another trip to my second home, the local grocery.

Goodbye for today from my river town.

PS... Julie's link is celina-mycrazylife.blogspot.com

Friends on a Plane

My pastor recently returned from a trip to Israel; my friend Mary flies to Haiti in a couple of days. I can safely tell you that neither one supposed at new year's dawning that a journey was in the offing.

In early February Pastor Ted was delighted to accept an abrupt vacancy on a scheduled tour of the Holy Land. The congregation was pleased. My husband and I, and probably many others, were anticipating how he would thread the impressions of his pilgrimage through his sermons. I asked him to take special note of the Sea of Galilee,because were I to be magically transported to Israel, and told to choose one site; there I would stand, walk and ponder, wade and reflect, on the Jesus of the gospels.

About two days into Pastor Ted's itinerary he felt unwell. As the others visited Cana where Jesus turned water into wine, Pastor Ted opted to rest on the bus. As he worsened he asked for and received immediate medical attention. He was taken to an excellent hospital where the doctors diagnosed and treated heart attack. He was swaddled safely in the cocoon of what turns out to be an extraordinary health care system. He may have been safer than if he were alone in his study or walking the local rail trail. His friend and tour guide called pastor Ted's refurbished heart another miracle at Cana.

Last summer Mary enjoyed her first camping experience. This is another blog worthy entry for sure, but she coped beautifully. The memories of that week-end at Baxter State Park are why I'm confident she can endure the potential discomforts of her week in Haiti. She is the second nurse I'm aware of in this city of 6000 plus who has volunteered to help alleviate the physical sufferings of the earthquake survivors. Mary is responsible for her own airline ticket, her meals, her passport, her inoculations, etc. Our church members, her friends, and family have donated money, cash, checks, and medical supplies. People seem so relieved to have a direct way to help.

Her feet will be on Dominican Republic soil by Sunday night. Her hands will be soothing ailing Haitians by Monday afternoon. She would demure, but I am humbled by her courage. I would want to go with my husband, my daughter, a friend or all three. I know there are thousands of sojourners like Mary; they will deliver the prayers, gifts, and money of thousands of families and friends; countless thousands of kindnesses have and will be extended. If Haiti were a lame man, and simple human empathy and immediate response were a cure...Haiti would get up, no leap up...and walk. God bless you, Haiti.

I've been thinking that somehow Pastor Ted and Mary are like prisms. As white light enters and exits a prism it disperses into the colors of the rainbow which bend or refract depending upon the speed at which they travel through glass. Red bends the least. Violet bends the most. My friends regarded, reviewed, and respected the white lights in their lives: spouses, children, parents, siblings, mentors and colleagues. I know they prayed. They each chose a violet path, bent by touching anticipation and tender trust, away and afar from the comfort of established routines.

The moment Mary's daughter made her farewells this morning was so pure I had to look away. Sometimes true courage is in staying home. The color blue is nestled up against violet, not as bent, but close. The blue path is the path of those who wait for a loved one's safe return. That is a well-worn path for the dear, devastated Haitians and a historic truth in the often tumultuous middle east. Thank you, Pastor Ted and Mary...friends on a plane.

Mary traveled to Haiti under the auspices of the

Good Samaritan Mission Council at their base in La Romana, Domincan Republic.