Was there an activity that could have resulted in a hobby or a passion of yours throughout your life if you were allowed to engage in it actively?

For me, it would be the piano. Back in the mid-70s, we kids were given a toy piano. It was made of wood or wood paneling, had ivory or black keys, and sounded like a real piano. I would press on the keys and make sounds. I tried to compile it into connecting sounds, but it was not working. I was given a professional piano lesson when my mother saw I was interested. How exciting. I knew that it was going to be unique.

I had already had other lessons, namely a dance recital class, baton twirling lessons, and Vacation Bible School. I knew about behavior and manners, and I was a humble kid who was not rowdy among teachers or my classes. I wanted to learn piano, and this would be a skill to learn, master, and enjoy, and others enjoy for all my life.

My mother took me over to a private teacher’s house. I sat next to her on the bench. I don’t remember much about her, but I do remember that moment. I was anxious. I wanted to do well. The lesson was short, as it seems all music lessons are short.  I recall my mother sitting there in the room, and after a few minutes, I knew she wouldn’t have the patience with me to learn as she would make a slight noise when I was not on the right key. It was my first lesson; I was just a kid. I was nervous, but it also seemed like I was being rushed, even in that short lesson. My mom left with me. She told the lady I was too young, and I recall her commenting on my performance to the teacher, saying something like, “I think Renee is just not interested.” I know my mom was always in a hurry wherever she went; perhaps it was all the caffeine she had in her system from the TABs she drank or her several jobs, or a learned behavior as her mother; my grandmother Inez was never in any place very long “Come on Sammy, we gotta go!”  I followed suit, and I acted like I was disinterested. I secretly wanted to learn with all my heart, however. Whenever I see a piano, especially a beautiful black grand piano, I want to sit, play, press those keys, and make elegant music. So perhaps one day still.

Marian, my mom, entered my sister and me in twirling, which was a flash in the pan. All activities were that way with us, even Karate. Once I earned my orange belt, we stopped, and then I picked it back up at age 20, never to quit. But I don’t recollect my mom asking me if I wanted lessons; I never asked my boys if they would like to attend a week-long etiquette camp offered at The Boys & Girls Club either. I just enrolled them. Parents do what they ought to do. Maybe it was getting errands run or achieving an aim. I had aimed to get help from etiquette classes for the boys Jeffry & Jared to do better at the dinner table. To this day, they still bring it up, and we all get a laugh.

 Little did my mother know that one day, I would teach a form of twirling for self-defense: learning to control a stick and maneuver it so that it may disarm or counterstrike an assailant. However, If I had been asked what I would like to learn back then, I would have fervidly shared Ice Skating! Ice skating is magical to me. We never had the means to take me to the Houston Galleria to Ice Skate, but I would have cherished it. One of my favorite movies is The Long Kiss Goodnight with Gena Davis. My favorite scene is where she laces up her ice skates, glides, and scrapes across the frozen lake, shooting a pistol while carrying an AR on her back to crush her assassins. But long before that, I loved the classic winter season cartoons where Mickey Mouse was ice skating with Minnie.

All I knew was I wanted white ice skates with bright white laces. Hearing the skate scrape across the ice like writing with a quill pen on parchment paper, skating and dancing on the ice seemed so classy, like playing the piano.

 Instead, we roller-skated on gravel. The pain of those aluminum teeth at your toe box holding the fake leather to the metal platform always cut open your toes; I constantly had blisters and bloody nubs as one had to push off the small rocks to get a good start, followed by falling from tripping. That’s why they called us a chip off the old block. We would chip our teeth, knees, or elbows in those skates.

 Thank goodness for roller rink skating later in our adolescent years; at least then, when we crashed and burned, it was softened by another body that we used to cushion our fall. For years to come, from age 8 to 14, I skated in the rinks of Texas City, Hitchcock, and Algoa. That is where we rented our brown skates. Every time I walked into those places, they would have a trophy shelf where one might envy the skates you could buy, beautiful white ones with fancy wheels and laces. I would just put my head down as if I were lying low from the cops, not looking too closely, almost feeling guilty just for looking at them, knowing we could never afford them.

There is a movie scene I can relate to when it comes to moments like this. In the film Napolean Dynamite, Uncle Rico & Napoleon Dynamite are at the local market. Uncle Rico removes the fun pack of chips, rebuking him for knowing they can’t afford the luxury of the variety of individual mini bags of chips. So, I would turn in my shoes in exchange for the 100 lb. brown bag special skates with faded red laces that always seemed wet and super long. The skating rinks always smelled like damp socks and Fritos. However, it was always cold, which was a comfort; they played the most excellent hit music and had disco lights!  Anyway, I digress. Let’s get back to twirling.

One day, my sister Kim and I were wrestling over the batons, which belonged to whom, based on the design of the ball and tips. It was not a proud moment in time, but hey, we were kids. We must have looked like the sisters in Cinderella grabbing the glass slipper to see who fit it best. Our baby sister was swinging in that plastic seat that looked like a smock at playtime where we would finger paint. It was harnessed in a metal swing that looked like it was held together by wire hangers, making a turkey timer noise, “Click, Clank, Clank, Click, Click Clank, Clank Click.” Baby Stephanie would look back and forth like the cat, keeping time with her eyes or watching a tennis match. My little brother was always next door eating orange candy slices from our neighbor Elise, so he was safe. My mother didn’t want us to hurt ourselves or fight or have that baton fly off its handle, damaging anything or anyone around it. She was rattled.  She, therefore, took that baton and broke it over her thigh, and it split in two.  Dr. Suess was right. There were Sneetches without stars, and some had stars upon thars. We had succumbed to being a Sneetche, wanting what the other had.

My sister and I hit the floor in tears; our bodies seemed to have melted like the witch from The Wizard of Oz as we sank melodramatically. Because we now believed our mom was Hercules, with super solid thighs and arms of steel, we then learned to fight in whisper mode and stick our tongues at each other until we amended from such kiddish charades.  

As short-lived as the baton was. When you got it, you got it!  You know how some people can roll their tongues upside down, but others cannot? I can, and it does not take skill; some are born with abilities.  I’ve always been able to work small joint-type maneuvers. Also, I have always wanted to be a drummer in a band, so when I saw and picked up a stick, I would twirl it like those famous drummers do and work my air band.  Nonetheless, I had learned enough baton that I was a natural when it came to martial arts and learning the Nunchakus, The Bo, the Sai, the Kama, the Sword, and the Escrima Sticks. In all my years of teaching traditional weapons in martial arts, I could always spot someone who had baton lessons, ha! They, too, had a knack for spinning those sticks like The Ninja Turtles. Even now, I have all the fun tools to spin and practice regularly.  

Vacation Bible School was fun, and I am sure my mom ran many errands while we were there, so it was a win-win. She had to drop off her Avon Lady orders and SW Bell telephone books, pick up a six-pack of ice-cold TAB, the pink cans of diet soda, and change the laundry. I do recall that we always had clean clothes.

She would drop me off at VBS; the teachers were pleasant, the church was huge, the heights of the walls were towering, the building was super cold, and the carpets were red. The halls smelled like animal crackers and apple juice. It would be best if you had a gallon of apple juice to wash down a small circus box of animal crackers, and your teeth hurt for hours.  It seems animal crackers are made of thick, chewy paste. The only thing remarkable about the cracker is the box with the little string handle and looking at some of the animal kingdom stamped into the cookie. What is it with daycare, animal crackers, and graham crackers? Just ask a kid what they would like to snack on. It sure as heck won’t be that. A good takeaway is I learned the time-honored song Jesus Loves Me This I Know.

I even had the certificates to show I was there and a little panel photo of Jesus; these are my little treasure trove of memorabilia. We had nap time on red or blue mats, where I just closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. We cut and pasted crafts, did finger painting, learned bible stories, and got picked up. We had a Volkswagen Bus and later a Yellow Station Wagon, which were big cars that we were never found to be in a seatbelt.

Onto dance, I would have liked to be taught more than just a recital song and outfit for parents to watch us on stage after a small enrollment stent. I loved dance class. My favorite was tap. I loved my pink tights and black tap shoes with the black grosgrain ribbon tied in a bow. I would Shuffle Ball Change out to the dance floor and make as much sound with my tap shoes as possible, just like a kid playing in puddles after a rain shower. At home, my mom found a large square tile I could tap on, and I would practice my little dance moves repeatedly. The sound of tap dancing is like playing a piano with your feet. Forming a rhythm while pacing the floor like a cadence, I would have enjoyed staying in tap lessons, but I am pretty sure it was a money thing. So, those dance days were short-lived.

I was thrilled to have my daughter in Tap lessons when she was little, and now her daughters, my grandchildren, are in tap; my heart beats!

My sister and I played dress-up with our recital outfits for a few years, even wearing them on Halloween one year. But when I outgrew my tap shoes, my mom bought no more.

 What could my parents have done for us kids if time and money were of no concern? Now, as an adult, even still, what could be in the cards even if injury or illness were of no circumstance? Could it be career-changing, power-influencing, dynamic-impacting, or just good old well-roundedness, multi-talented, and relatable to different things and people? Or is it just blissful because you can do precisely what your heart desires? Naturally, I would always want to be around my kids and grandbabies; they live so far away, so that would be ticket one, but in other areas…

I’d have a music room with a grand piano and a drum set, a dance room with mirrors floor to wall, a ballet bar, beautiful light wood floors, a traditional at-home dojo with bamboo floors, high ceilings, and gongs. I would also have an extensive library floor to ceiling with books of the antiquity of the scriptures, a library so tall and large I need a ladder on a track. I’d have maps, an open dome-shaped roof with a telescope pointing to Kolab, a fireplace, big cozy chairs, and a private tutor that would teach me Hebrew, Egyptian, and all the languages of the world where I can sing Jesus Loves Me for all. One day still.

What is your childhood lesson like outside the home? What is it you wish you had and perhaps one day still?

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