Sometimes people ask (well, someone did; once), “What does the name of your blog mean, ‘About Pops’”?
It sort of has to do with a stage of life, what I call the second-coming-of-age and all that comes with it, stuff like: looming retirement, senior adulthood, your body committing mutiny. But, then there is the glorius side of it all, being a grandfather, or as I’m known to my Grand-Girls, “Pops”.
This Saturday morning is a very exciting for a Pops like me. I’m going to my first dance recital. While I am excited, I’m also a bit anxious. You see I grew up in the Southern Baptist tradition where evangelist warned that Jesus would almost certainly return during a dance at Teen Town. “Is that where you want to be when The King Comes!?” And in my 13 year-old brain I’m thinking “As opposed to…?” (More than likely I’m thinking how does he get his hair to stay all puffed up in that big hairdo?”)
Looking back, I think I wouldn’t have minded at all if Jesus had come back during a school dance. I think he would have enjoyed it. In fact, I think even the full-time evangelist would have had a good time if he could have chiseled through all the pomade keeping his pompadour in place and let his hair down.
Today’s recital stars our oldest Grand-Girl, Karlee. I think maybe there will be other little dancers there too.
If you have a problem with me unbashedly bragging on her, in the words of Steve Martin: “Well, exxxxuuuussssee me!!!”
You see this tiny dancer is the one who made me POPS. She has patiently turned me in to a dewy-eyed, sentimental, very proud, old man.
I am so grateful that she can dance without shame. That she can know the joy, the freedom, the beauty of being a little artist.
I could go on and on and on, but I have a dance to go to. And, if Jesus were to be ready, I think he would really enjoy this, because the children will be dancing.