I danced in a grocery store Friday afternoon. And played air guitar. I may or may not have made facial expressions that may or may not have been mistaken for an "O Face." I was too excited to tell. But I definitely uncurled my thumbs and kicked my legs out like Elaine Benes. It was a sad, disturbing display of rhythmic paralysis that could only mean one thing: I'm a parent. And I'm a dork.
USC Daily Trojan columnist Jean Guerrero says such displays of I'll-never-grow-up-Peter-Panisms may just be the cure-all for societal ills. Skip if you want to. Sing if you must. Screw social conventions. Just do it.
I remember the social angst of high school and college. Even throughout my twenties I tried my best to fit in and, sadly, did. But once I had a child, it was like my Dork Flag unfurled itself and started waving in the breeze. I dance in stores. I sing on the sidewalk. I skip daily. Emmeline loves to dance and shake her arms about, so I jump on any chance to see her boogie, such as our Friday afternoon display of disco air guitar.
Proudly wearing a Dork Merit Badge might seem like a big leap for the younger set, as evidenced by the column's call to dork arms. But isn't that what parents do all the time? Isn't that why we're here?
