I can hear my son dancing in his carseat as I drive the minivan around town.
He dances with a particular sense of abandon, throwing his whole body into his head-banging, side to side, forward and back. He snaps his elbows out and pulls his hands to his chest and then kicks his feet.
When he breaks into dancing at home, he does a combination of skipping/leaping/running in circles that is breathlessly exciting.
He is into it.
I know he’s dancing wildly back there in the minivan (as wildly as one can dance when strapped into a 5-point harness car seat), so I pull down my rear-view mirror for a moment to see what he’s doing.
He immediately freezes in mid-boogie and looks away trying not to catch my gaze.
All of that joyful movement stops in an instant and gives way to bashful embarrassment.
My son is a secret…
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