Few things bring me more joy than watching young children dance to live music. While toddlers lack fine motor skills, they come to dancing with a delightfully unselfconscious exuberance. (Yes, the same can be said of some adults, but they are rare, as our culture sadly tends to discourage dancing among the less coordinated.) Most musicians I know are thrilled by children dancing to their music, and their playing seems to become both more playful and more focused, as they engage in a musical conversation with the tiny dancers before them.
While strolling through the Ballard farmers’ market Sunday morning, I was drawn by the scratchy back-beat drawl of a fiddle. The old-time fiddler balanced on a milk crate, tapping both heels as he played and sang. On the sidewalk in front of him, one of the tiniest dancers I’ve seen was strutting her stuff. Her little feet, clad in fuschia socks and purple-flowered shoes, became still only when the fiddler stopped at the end of a tune. When her colorfully tattooed mother held out a hand and said, “Let’s go,” our little dancer was having none of it. The fiddle started up again. The little girl took her mother’s hands, and they danced together, laughing.
When we had family in town a couple of weeks ago, the whole crowd went to Ballard on Sunday morning. At the end of our stroll through the market stalls, during which we acquired a cool new hat for Max, sampled cheese, and purchased large amounts of produce, our nephews became enchanted by a dark-haired girl in a flirty red dress, clogging to the music of a banjo. As he watched her dance, Max shuffled his feet a couple of times, clearly trying to understand and recreate her dance steps. Boo sat in his stroller, bouncing and clapping. And Aunt Kimberly took it all in, and smiled.
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What sweet moments! Thanks for sharing them.
I’m told that I dance like a toddler, but that’s where having a shame deficiency comes in handy. In my (oh, now ex *sniff*) idyllic small Ohio town, there is a weekend abundance of both street musicians and small children. I’ve spent a few Saturdays babysitting four girls ages two, four, six, eight, with no regrets whatsoever. Lucky you to have sidewalk music to hear, and little kids to help you listen.
That’s just wonderful.
I used to be married to a drummer and his band played a lot of outdoor festivals and Live-at-Five type things. We all loved it when kids were there, as they upped the Joy Quotient by about a zillion.
Even now, when I ask Max what his favorite part of the trip to Seattle was, he always recalls the lady in the red dress. And Lyra and blueberries, of course. But the crimson dancer gets first billing.
I am so glad you shared this… beautiful!
Watching kids dance takes years off the watcher.
I’ve noticed when you see musicians playing outside that adults who are holding babies or toddlers start dancing about as well. It’s almost as if they have been given unconscious permission to join in.
Kimberly, have I told you that you have just been on fire with everything you’ve written this past week? Not that you were any slouch in the past, but lately you’ve just been white-hot. Had I not been all self-absorbed with the big freaking deadline at the box factory, I would have told you this long ago.