After dinner the other night, Zach approached me about a problem.
Zach: Mom. I need help.
Me: With what?
Zach: I can't swing my hips.
Zach: My hips. They don't move. I can't swing them back and forth.
Hmmm... as the mother of a 14-year-old boy, this does not sound like a problem at all... This, my friends, is a gift from God.
Me: Okay. Soooo... first. Why do you need them to swing? Anddd... second. Why do you care?
Zach: They NEED to swing. We are doing this dance to "All the Single Ladies" and my hips don't swing like everyone elses. I look like an idiot.
Me: Of course your hips swing.
Zach No! REALLY! LOOK!
What I saw was disturbing. Indeed. His hips don't swing. His upper body moves from side to side, giving vague impression that his bottom half is moving. He is right...
He looked like an idiot.
Zach: MOM! My theater arts grade depends on whether I can swing my hips!
Me: (I get up off my chair). Okay. Let me see what's going on. Try it again. (I hold his waist to keep it still)
Me: So - try this.
I get up and stick out my hip.
Me: Stand up and put all your weight on your hip.
Zach: (he tries) I can't do it!
He is 50% Arab. Of course he can swing his hips. His ancestors have been belly dancing and hip swinging for centuries.
OMG. It's the Norwegian in him! Damn it! I thought that his lackluster hip-swinging looked eerily familiar...
Me: Zayd! Show your brother how to swing those hips!
Zayd gets up and does some amazing dance moves -- complete with 100% authentic middle-eastern hip swinging.
Whoa. Zayd got Zach's 50% Arab and his own 50%.
Zach: My hips don't do that!
Me: I see that now.
Zach: (defeated) What am I going to do?
Me: You have only a few choices. You can stand in the back row and hope no one sees you. You can call in sick... or we'll have to send in Zayd for you.
Zayd: Woot! Woot!