Thursday 11 October 2018

Dance to Your Own Drumbeat - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Drums

This drummer beats for me - and me alone -
and I dance to rhythm all my own.
I'll move in time with music 'til it's gone;
don't know all the steps, but I'll catch on.
You hear another tune; have your own groove,
and can't tell me how I ought to move.
I'll march with fervor, or I'll tread with grace -
when drum changes tempo, I'll keep pace.
If I am out of step, you'll never know.
Your drummer does a diff'rent beat bestow.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, October 10, 2018

What was meant to be a temporary re-arrangement of furniture in our front sunroom inspired this post. Steve - the furnace guy - was coming in early the next morning to re-route some venting in the attic and our son's bedroom, and because said son is a night owl, this entailed a different spot for him to sleep for a night. Knowing that he'd bunked a night or two in the sunroom, I went in there to pull out the futon he'd be sleeping on, only to find that the drum was in the way.

The drum in question used to belong to my mother-in-law. When she moved into a nursing home several years ago, my sons claimed it. Nobody here plays the drums, but it's one of those things that we just can't seem to part with. For me, it symbolized something - I just wasn't sure what until I moved it yesterday. Looking for a spot to stick it for 24 hours, I plopped it down in the corner of our front entryway. I walked past it several times, and decided it looked at home in that spot. In fact, I decided it could make an important statement about our family.

"I'm going to leave it here" I told my husband. "I'll put a sign over it that says, 'Dance to your own beat' or 'Follow your own drum'..."

"I like it!" he responded.

So there it sits - sans sign - for now. Having it in our entryway is symbolic. We are a family that values individuality. My husband, my sons and myself all see the world differently. We are four shades of ideology. We have four different views on religion; four different views on politics. We keep different hours and enjoy different pastimes.We have varied opinions on fashion, on budgeting, on art, on music...Name a subject and the chances are good that the four of us will each have our unique take on it. We are individuals.

Amazingly, we don't spend all of our time together arguing. Why bother? As parents, we just wanted to raise decent kids - not little clones of either of us. My sons always got along well, in spite of the fact that they had different temperaments, personalities and interests. We love each other, but what makes us a happy family is that we genuinely like each other.

I won't tell you we've never had heated discussions, or that we always respect each others opinions, but we accept this as fact - we're allowed to see things differently. It's good to be unique.

I love my husband's ability to keep a civil tongue and an even temper. I love how my older son has a very dry wit and can remember bizarre facts on a million topics. I love watching my younger son in action - when he explains AI theory I understand little - but I love how passionate he is about his interests. I love that all three of them keep talking to me, whether I know what they mean or not!

I appreciate that my husband cares about my opinions. Many of our conversations begin with the words, "what do you think about..." It matters that we still ask these questions, even though we know there's a good chance that our points of view won't be completely aligned.

We're tolerant of each other's foibles. As I've said before, I do not excel at multi-tasking. (As an example, on Tuesday I opened the microwave to find the peas I meant to serve at Thanksgiving dinner.) My husband and kids know this about me. They understand that I'm incapable of real conversation while I'm preparing a meal, and they know that disorder in the kitchen makes me crazy enough to drop a bad word or two. I know this was an annoyance to my younger son when he'd invite friends from church over, but - bless him - rather than chastising me for my nasty mouth, he'd stoically come into the kitchen and offer assistance. His brother would do the same when kitchen counters got heaped with tins and ingredients during my annual Christmas baking binges - just step in and help re-create order from chaos.

We don't always agree, but we "get" each other.

Yes - we roll our eyes sometimes, but we do it as we bite our tongues. None of us is perfect, but as a family, this much diplomacy we've mastered:

- We don't always have to waste our time trying to sway each others' opinions.
- We don't have to agree with each other to enjoy each other.
- We don't have to like the same things.
- We respect each other's strengths and try to compensate for each other's weaknesses.
- Criticism should always be gentle.
- A whole lot of things we might want to say are better left unsaid.

At the risk of sounding trite, love really is the answer. As I've contemplated the drum that now sits in my front entrance, I've decided that we're perhaps not just marching to a different beat, but perhaps all hearing different drummers. Some are pounding bongos, some are beating snare drums. Some are tapping away on steel drums. At times the desire to share the rhythms we choose to hear is almost overwhelming. We each hear through our custom headphones, and most of us (secretly, at least) believe our music is best. We are social creatures who want to share what we love, and we often invite others to join us in our dance - forgetting that they already have choreographed moves of their own. Sometimes an inner critic wants to tell them what they're doing is wrong; to us their tempo seems off, or their movements don't seem fluid. Love is knowing how to hush that impulse.

Love is a clumsy dance that transcends all the genres. It is ballet's elite twirling their way through a mosh pit of ravers. Love is embracing the concept of not just hearing different beats, but knowing there are different drums and drummers. It's accepting that every drum has its merits, and every drummer has her or his own style. Every beat has its place.

Love is an open invitation:

Come as the individual you are, and dance to your unique drum beat.

No comments:

Post a Comment