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.
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