On Peculiarities in the Cereal Aisle

I was in my early teens. Thirteen perhaps, or there about. We - that is, my dad and I - were in the cereal aisle at the local supermarket. To my teenage horror, he began "dancing." I say dancing, because sticking your arms out and rotating them as if stirring a large pot, while simultaneously thrusting out one's butt, is no dancing move that I have heard of. I turned around, blushing, and pretended he was not a friend, family member, or associate of any kind.

In retrospect, one finds that, as one gets older, dancing and singing in public is something people should do more of. We all work so hard to shield ourselves and hide ourselves, and our spontaneity, that we lose part of ourselves. Dance in public, if you want. Dance like nobody is watching.