Rainbow Song and Dance for Mom

The numbers five, six, seven and eight, in that order, are very special to me. They evoke the sound of a needle crackling as it drops onto a record, the scent of sweaty lycra in a gym bag, and the sight of my mom front and center in a packed auditorium using her right hand to balance some sort of massive recording device and her left to point towards an exaggerated smile on her face.

Between the ages of 18 months and 18 years, I attended weekly dance classes. According to my rough calculations, that’s more than 1,000 hours of ballet, jazz, and tap, but more to the point, that’s more than FIFTY recital costumes. Sure, the teachers got to choose the costumes for the group numbers, but if you signed up for a solo or duet, which of course my sister and I always did, you got to choose your own attire. Somehow I talked the teachers into letting me borrow the costume catalogs so I could take my time contemplating exactly what concoction of spandex and sequins truly embodied Billy Ocean’s Get Out of My Dreams, Get Into My Car. If I couldn’t find a ready-made match, my mom and I would set to work, and after a few magical evenings in her sewing room, we’d emerge with a perfectly customized costume.

For an Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini routine, when Wal-Mart failed to yield suitable dotted fabric, my mom and I painted our own dots onto yellow satin. Then there were leotards, ears and tails, all made out of pink faux fur, so my sister and I could realize our vision of the Pink Panther theme song. And in case you’re wondering, for Billy Ocean, I decided on a shiny magenta unitard with royal blue leg warmers, briefs and a headband. There were many, many others, and I remember each and every one. The little voice inside my head is saying, “Wait a minute, this is all making perfect sense!” Maybe I love costumes like Billy loves the lady drivers because more than simple self expression, devising a costume reminds me of a special time in my life when I got to collaborate with my mom.

Not all kids get to go to dance lessons. Not all moms are willing to carpool to them, and pay for them, and sew costumes only to have to sit through four-hour recitals because of them. Mine was. For that and about a million other reasons, I’m thankful. So this note reads…

Dear Mom,

Thank you for all the years of dance lessons. Thank you for all the smiles at all the recitals. Thank you for never saying no to a costume… each was a lesson in creativity, and you are the best teacher I’ve ever had.

Sincerely, Jessi

And now, because I can’t get it out of my head, please enjoy the lyrics to one of Mr. Ocean’s greatest, yet sadly least choreographed, hits. The part where he asks you to touch his bumper is particularly sassy…

Hey you, get in to my car
Who me?
Yes you, get in to my car
Wooooooooooooooh. Wah! Yeah!

Who’s that lady
Coming down the road
Who’s that lady

Who’s that woman
Walking through my door
What’s the score

I’ll be the sun
Shining on you
Hey Cinderella
Step in your shoe
I’ll be your non-stop lover
Get it while you can
Your non-stop miracle
I’m your man

Get outta my dreams
Get in to my car
Get outta my dreams
Get in the back seat baby
Get in to my car
Beep beep, yeah
Get outta my mind
Get into my life
Oooooooooh
Oh I said hey (Hey) you (You)
Get in to my car

Lady driver
Let me take your wheel
Smooth operator

Touch my bumper (Bumper)
Hey, let’s make a deal
Make it real

Like a road runner
Coming after you
Just like a hero
Outta the blue
I’ll be your non-stop lover
Get it while you can
Your non-stop miracle
I’m your man

I said open the door
(Get in the back)
Tread on the floor
(Get on the track)

Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)
Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)

I’ll be the sun
Shining on you
Hey Cinderella
Step in your shoe
I’ll be your non’stop lover
Get it while you can
Your non-stop miracle
I’m your man

Get outta my… Get outta my…
Woooooooooooooh
Get outta my dreams

Get outta my dreams
Get in to my car
Get outta my dreams
Get in the back seat baby
Get in to my car
Beep beep, yeah
Get outta my mind
Get into my life
Oooooooooh
Oh I said hey (Hey) you (You)
Get in to my car