Sometimes It Rains When I Dance
Babies scream. This has been a painful realization for me over
the last several weeks as my new son passed from the sleepy newborn to
the active, often fussy infant.
Until Tyler was born I had never spent time with a baby. However, I'd
read all the manuals, and practiced cradling the cat in my arms. How
hard could this be? It seemed logical to me that in a perfect world a
baby should have no reason to cry. If he was fed, changed, and cuddled
to excess how could he not spend his days smiling and his nights
sleeping?
Early on, Tyler made it clear I had a lot to learn.
As an engineer I'm schooled in the rigors of cause and effect
reasoning. Despite my wife's Native American heritage I don't really
believe dancing around a fire makes it rain. Everything I've ever
believed in was predicated on finding the mechanism which made it so.
I've always had to understand how things worked.
And so, with my son I embarked on a quest to seek the magic calming
potion. Like a medieval alchemist I blended all the elements of baby
pacification in hopes of discovering what turned my cranky son into the
little angel he is when his grandparents are around.
At first I was convinced motion was the trick. Endless hours
of pacing; baby over my shoulder; slight bounce to my bundle. But times
arose when this didn't work. No problem. I added a rhythm to the walk
which quickly evolved into the traditional circle dance I had seen at
so many Indian pow-wows. My wife was greatly amused, and I had success,
for a time at least.
I experimented with talking and singing (mostly Clint Black tunes as my
lullabies are real rusty), but the results were mixed at best. There
was the "fight fire with fire" strategy where I would counter each of
Tyler's screams with one of my own. I had him on volume, but I couldn't
quite manage the fingernails-on-a-chalkboard pitch.
Then there was the vibrating pacifier trick. I would hold the handle
end of the pacifier between my teeth, and insert the nipple into his
mouth. I'd then give forth a deep baritone "OWWWUMMMMMMMMMM". This
surprised him into silence for a moment, but he would quickly realize
he was related to the idiot on the other end of the pacifier and resume
screaming with renewed vigor.
Relentlessly I tried all the permutations. No combination worked every
time. Most everything worked after a fashion. From a scientific
standpoint the project was a bust. There must have been some key factor
I was overlooking. My search continued.
One evening as Tyler and I were peacefully reading the evening paper,
his alarms went off. He'd just eaten. I checked his diaper, tried to
give him his pacifier, and tried several different positions all to no
avail. I felt guilty about not getting up with him, but I was just too
exhausted to dance the ritual dance. So we sat. He cried.
After about 10 minutes he quieted down and dropped off to sleep. His
limp body was resting on my chest, and his tiny arms were draped around
my neck in an apparent hug. Feelings of relief slowly washed the guilt
from my conscience. And as I sat, wallowing in the tranquil moment, I
came to understand the message Tyler just delivered.
The peace he had found was in his own time and of his own making. I
could do something or nothing. Either way, he settled down and life
went on. All my antics were merely ways of biding my time while he
worked the evil spirits from his own system. I was there to go through
the exorcism with him, and that was enough.
It would seem I had been on a fool's quest. I was striving to be the
cause for something to which I was only an observer. There was no
elixir I could offer which would grant him relief. Yet how painful the
last 10 minutes had been for me. How much easier it was on my sanity to
dance and play with him during these episodes. How much fun we had (or
at least I had) humming, swinging, and singing.
I thought back to the Indians dancing to bring the rain, and began to
wonder if the tribal elders came to a similar realization. Mother Earth
would make it rain in her own time and for reasons she did not share.
Sometimes it rained after the ceremonial dance. Sometimes it just
rained. Yet still the tribe danced during the droughts.
I believe they must have found joy in the dancing for it's own sake,
much as I find joy in the playing. But moreover, I find if I'm dancing
when the rains come, then my heart smiles, believing, against all the
reasoning my brain can offer that somehow... it's raining for me.
