My son Solomon turned 12 last week. While we Skyped he
shared with me that he had his first slow dance with a girl at camp. As he
explained what happened, I couldn't help but think about the time he called me two summers ago. He had attempted to ask a girl to dance but was rejected.
This year was a completely different scenario. He called me, excited to tell me about his experience. He and my 13-year-old son Saidon took
turns interrupting each other to tell me about how the dance went. According to
his older brother, Solomon "looked like he was going to pick up a grown
lady and escort her to his Cadillac!"
My baby was dressed so sharp with a button-down shirt and
slacks while all the other kids had on shorts and sneakers.
“How did you feel?” I asked him.
"Like a million bucks!" he said with a smile. He said
he saw a girl he thought was cute and asked her to dance. She said yes.
“Were you nervous about asking her to dance?" I asked, not sure if he even remembered the last time.
“No,” he spoke confidently.
“Why not?” I asked
“Because I’m fine!” he spoke as though he was just voted
Sexy Man of the Year.
“That song lasted for HOURS," my older son interjected.
“I couldn’t wait until it was over!”
My 12-year-old smiled.
"Did it feel nice?" I asked him.
"Did you kiss her?"
"NO!" he exclaimed and blushed, his round cheeks
looking like ripe mangoes.
“What did you say when the song was over?”
"I just said, 'That was nice.'"
"Did you see her the next day?" I asked.
"Did you talk to her?"
"Mommy! It was just a dance! We're not getting