Dance

Couple of things going through my mind this Good Friday morning.

On top of the heap is a little bit of regret. I would love nothing more than to be planning a trip to one of my brothers' or sisters' homes for Easter dinner this weekend. And by that I mean I wish we lived closer together, and it was a regular thing. But it hits harder on the holidays.

The verbal abuse (in fun of course), the games, the jokes . . . the laughter. Maybe it's because we all live so far apart, but when we get together, it's always a party, a celebration and there is a lot of laughter. Yeah, today I really miss that.

And I guess this stuff came to mind this morning as I was making pancakes for the boys. It's their favourite.

Anyhoo, I turned on my iTunes as I was cooking and an ABBA song came up first. My sister loved ABBA when we were growing up. Which made me think of family.

I know, backwards segue there, so let's move on. To a worse segue.

The ABBA music also took me into a religious train of thought. (Hang on, it sorta makes sense.)

You see, I grew up in a Mennonite church, went to a Mennonite high school. And among the Mennonite traditions, if you will, was the belief that dancing was, well, evil.

(Standard joke: Why don't Mennonites have sex standing up? . . . . It leads to dancing. Ha ha ha)

So, how is this relevant? Well, when the music came on, both of my boys, at 2 and 4, immediately started dancing in their chairs as they waited for their pancakes.

"Let's dance!" said 2-year-old Sontoo from his high chair, wiggling his little bottom, waving his little hands and kicking his little feet under the table.




Ooooh, that's some evil stuff right there.

And I suppose this kind of thing is one of the myriad reasons I am not in church this Good Friday morning. I always thought the no-dancing rule (and several of the others) was a crock. But it wasn't until I had children that I realized just how big a crock it is.

Dancing, moving to music, is as natural as breathing. I didn't teach them to dance. Neomom didn't teach them to dance. They just hear music and they want to move to it. And they smile, angelically, ear to ear, when they do. If that is evil . . . I have learned in improper definition somewhere along the way.

Anyhoo, that and a few other things pretty much put me off organized religion ("the church" whatever that means to you) a few years back. And that's why I'm not there this morning.

But it's a gorgeous day, the sun is shining, I plan to get outside and enjoy it with my boys. Their bellies are full of pancakes and they're ready to dance.

I still wish, however, that they could be dancing and laughing with their uncles, aunts and cousins. Someday . . .