When we were in California we went out to dinner at Joe’s Crab Shack. If you have never been there, it’s a fun place to go, and the atmosphere is kid friendly. Loud music, crab cracking bibs, and the servers dance every once and awhile. As we were cracking some crab legs I looked over at Quentin and realized he looked like he was doing the classic “potty dance” with his left hand strategically placed over his boyhood. “Quentin, do you have to go to bathroom?” I asked. He looked back at me with intention, and said “No.”
“Are you sure, Quentin?” I pressed, not convinced by his initial remark. “I’m sure mom, I don’t have to go!” he said with frusuration in his voice.
“Then why are you grabbing yourself?!” I countered. He dropped both of his little arms to the side of his skinny body, cocked his head to the side and said “I’m dancing like Michael Jackson!” Sure enough when I took a moment to really take in my surroundings I recognized the all to familiar “Thriller” blasting throughout the restaurant. Oh geez! This is definitley not the kind of dance moves we are looking to promote, but you can’t deny MJ was the master of dance. The things our children pick up on, and so young. My little Michael Jackson extraordinaire. He get’s it from his momma! Errrr… actually I can’t take all the credit, only 90%. George can get down too.