Despacito Desconcertado, Embarrassed Slowly…

As a mother with two young children, I consider myself to have some wicked dance moves.  Though that may only be true in my mind, I love to get out on the dance-floor regardless.  It can be a release and gives me a sense of stress relief.

My son’s new favorite song is Despacito and I requested it for him at a family function this past weekend.  I heard the opening notes and awaited his presence on the dance floor.

I was lost in the beat and Kelsey’s lyrics when I looked up to see him in a far corner, grooving to the rhythm and beat with his cousin.  

I tried to get his attention.  I tried to show off some of my moves.  Nothing.  He stayed in the corner and did not even look my way.

Part of the parental struggle is knowing which battles to pick.  Though I could tell this was something more than met the eye, I waited to broach the subject until bedtime.

I slyly asked why he did not join me on the dance-floor for his favorite song.  His answer at eight-years-old was honest and a sobering dose of reality.

“The truth is that it is too embarrassing to dance with my mom in public.  I’m sorry.  I will still dance with you at home.  OK?”

“Did that just happen!?” I wondered in sheer and utter internal distress.

I thanked him for his honesty and sang him his lullaby.

Eight and embarrassed.  A battle among many others, that I cannot fight.

The following night at bedtime, he asked if we could dance to Despacito together.   Kelsey cued the music and I smiled.

I know he did that for me, and I’ll take it.

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