Last night was Halloween Zumba complete with the Monster Mash, a little Rocky Horror Picture Show, and, of course, Thriller.
I was having major trouble keeping time with Michael and wondered if all the mathing had taken over my dancing brain, but then had an epiphany: When Thriller came out I was Baptist, so my arrhythmia was deeply ingrained religious bias and not lack of ability.
This past week, I’ve had my xm radio set to the Garth Brooks channel because his tastes are eclectic in the same way mine are, by which I mean you never know what’s coming up next. Could be George Jones, George Strait or George Michael.
But, before Garth Brooks and The Dance, there was my Uncle Squeaky. Without bringing out all the family skeletons on the Day of the Dead, lets just say that he’d made some questionable life choices. One Christmas, we were at my grandparents and someone asked him if given the chance to do it over, would he?
His response: NO. Because I wouldn’t have my kids. It’s like Star Trek. If I changed one thing, my whole life would be different and I wouldn’t trade my kids for anything.
I don’t remember much from my teen years, but I remember that. And I get it.
What’s it like to be 48 and in graduate school away from my home and family? Not a damn bit of fun. But, I couldn’t change anything, because… I wouldn’t have my kids. And neither would the world, which would be a damn shame.
And just in case you haven’t had your fill of country music, here’s a little Garth Brooks to get you going on a Tuesday: