I was so sure Kamal would love this. I was all ready to record video of him gleefully leaping around between a barre and a mirrored wall, surrounded by other, equally gleeful small dancers. I couldn't wait to post the video here, on Facebook, everywhere. I picked out his clothes--a black long-sleeved onesie and soft, charcoal-grey knit jersey pants, basically what I imagine a ballet dancer who's not trying too hard would wear to rehearsal--days in advance. I was stoked.
Instead, Kamal stayed in my lap for the entire class. Which is fine, of course--I'm not going to push a two-year-old into a situation he doesn't feel ready for, obviously. I'm about as far from a Tiger Mother as you can get and still be Asian. But I still wanted, so badly, to document this first ballet class (because, come on, what if he becomes a famous dancer and the people doing his writeup in the New Yorker call me and say, Hey, Mother of a Famous Dancer, where did it all begin? Or something like that. Um, not that I care as long as he's happy) and so I took these photos, of Kamal's reacting to, if not participating in, his very first ballet class.
Here they are.
Monday, January 19, 2015
Kamal, after vehemently cutting me off after the first line of about seventeen different lullabies, as though bedtime is his own personal The Gong Show:
Yes! This my favorite.
Me: Oh, that's nice. I like this one a lot too.
One of the things I love best about our house is the creek and creek trail right behind it. Being able to pop out the back door and right onto a dirt path shaded with oak and olive and eucalyptus trees, scented with wild fennel and the freshness of running water, with wild turkeys grazing alongside in fall and baby partridges scrambling around in spring, feels to me like the pinnacle of luxury. It's made my runs richer, more meditative and definitely more fun--not to mention much gentler on my joints than concrete sidewalks.
However, ever since Kamal has been able to express an opinion, he's resisted the creek trail when we go for runs together. I'm pretty sure it's because, as neat as it is to sight ducks and turkeys and the very occasional otter, he'd much rather sight buses and trucks and trains. That's the kind of scenery my jogging partner enjoys, from his cozy seat, and since I'm often faced with the choice of running with Kamal or not running at all, that's the the scenery we go looking for.
So nowadays, instead of running along the idyllic creek path, Kamal and I typically jog through our little neighborhood, past a giant shopping mall, along a major downtown street, and finally through a transit center, where there are usually a bunch of city buses lined up. He counts them, taking the job seriously, but not so much that he forgoes his usual panache.
Sunday, January 18, 2015
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Me, after reading "Crictor the Constrictor": Hey, what kind of pet would you want, if you were getting a pet?
Kamal, with no hesitation: A straw.
Me: A...straw? Did you say, "straw?"
Kamal: Yes. A white straw.
Me: Okay. Sure, we can totally get you a white straw for a pet. If you promise to take care of it yourself.
Me: But if you could have any pet in the entire world? Besides your straw? What would you pick?
Kamal: You! You my pet.
Friday, January 16, 2015
Monday, January 5, 2015
"Hey, Kamal," I ask, trying to capture a teaching moment, "do you think that was rude?"
"Yep," he says. I silently congratulate myself for raising such a perceptive and manners-minded young person.
Then adds, "It was funny AND rude." And I can't in all honesty disagree
|telling jokes to Daddy|
Later: "Daddy! Daddy! I funny!"
"I vewy funny!"
"You're pretty funny."
"I REALLY BIG FUNNY!"