Donnnnn Elbow
I remember the days of
old;
I meditate on all Your
works;
I muse on the work of
Your hands.
Psalm 143:5
One of the greatest pleasures of
motherhood is replaying the tapes. We all do it. In the secret lives of
mothers, remembering what your children used to be like is sweet and satisfying.
Plus, it's nowhere near as loud and smelly as when you lived it the first time
around.
The older they get, and the more
different they turn out than you thought they would, the more fun it is, too,
to play those "rerun" tapes in your head.
Nobody would ever believe, for
example, that our second daughter Neely was once a cheesy lounge lizard
character. But she was, at about age 4.
Today, Neely is a young adult sophisticate.
Her graceful mannerisms make Grace Kelly seem like a dweeb. Her slender figure
makes Audrey Hepburn look like a chub. She's cool as a cucumber, calm and
thoughtful, prudent and reserved.
But I'm telling you: she was once a
gaudy, outrageous performer, and her name was "Don Elbow."
Her lovely, feminine voice was once loud and raucous, like a
Las Vegas comedian.
That slender figure in
fashion-forward suits and skirts once featured a root-beer belly stuffed into
pink footie jammies.
That smooth blonde coiffure was once
Bed Hair In Extreme Contortions.
The Don Elbow Show took place at bedtime.
Neely would command the presence of her mother, father and older sister as her
"audience" at the foot of her bed.
She would vault up on top of her
great-grandmother's hand-me-down headboard. Her "stage" was a
precarious perch, about four inches wide. When she thought of it, she would put
on her "joo'ry," which consisted of 47,000 colorful plastic necklaces
and stretchy bracelets that threatened to cut off her circulation.
Once we gathered, she would command
her father, the stagehand, to switch the room's overhead light on and off real
fast the poor man's strobe.
Then she would begin her monologue.
It went something like this:
"Hiya,folks. This is the Don
Elbow Show. Starring ME: Donnnnnnn ELBOW!"
(This was our cue to give her
riotous applause.)
"Thankew. Thankew veddy
much."
Then she
would crouch forward, stick out her arm to the extreme left and, pointing her
finger extravagantly at imaginary thousands of fans, she would swing her arm
slowly all across the bedroom.
"Is there anybody new here
tonight?"
(There never was. It was always the
same old audience. We gave her riotous applause, anyway.)
Then she went into her song and
dance:
She would swing to the left and sing: "Deet,
deet."
Swing to the right and sing: "Deet, deet."
(Repeat; each identical
"stanza" was rewarded with still more riotous applause.)
What did the words mean? We had no
idea. Then again, if you've ever BEEN to a show like that, you know you're
better off NOT knowing what the lyrics mean, anyway.
Then the finale: a full, frontal, necklace-jangling flip onto
her colorful heart bedspread.
Stagehand flips the light again in one last, furious
flourish.
Ta-daaaa! Riotous, relieved applause. We could finally all
go to bed and rest up for the next show.
After a brief, but storied
"run," the Don Elbow Show closed.
Neely's energy turned toward drawing
mazes and riding her big-girl bike. As she grew, conventional pursuits such as
soccer and flute captured her interest. That was the end of her show biz phase.
She has never been the least bit of a ham or a showoff, before or since.
She's the work of God's hands, and
she is who she is now.
But I'm her Mom. I remember who she
used to be -- who she once was. And every now and then, I see a flash of sassy
personality from deep inside that proves that she still is, or could be, as
weird as that.
I play the tapes. It's my job.
I look into
that beautiful and mature young face, and see that no, there's nobody new here
. . . but there's someone I know and love:
Donnnnn ELBOW! Deet, deet!!!
