Basil made me hyperventilate last week after our first adult Irish dance class on Tuesday.
I signed myself up for classes last December when I was having a bad day. I told Kate, who answered the phone, “I’m an overweight, out-of-shape, middle-aged woman.”
She replied, “Aren’t we all?” and I felt I had found my people.
We talked for a bit and when Kate asked me, “Do you think any of your children would be interested?”
I answered, “No. None of them are any fun,” but that got me thinking. Basil likes listening to Irish shanties and being eighteen, he could be in my adult class. It was worth asking, and I was thrilled when he said he’d go to the try-out class with me.
We were sick on the last class day in December before Esther and John Ben came home for Christmas break. Then the school had to move from one room in the local rec center to another and had their special floors all torn up. We were sick again in January, but finally the week before my birthday we were all set to come.
When I saw Basil in Calculus that morning, I said, “Don’t forget that we have dance class tonight at six-thirty.”
“I can’t dance,” he said, “These hiking boots are my only shoes.” He held up his bulky footwear for my inspection.
I thought, “This can’t be happening!” I couldn’t bear to postpone our class yet again. Then I realized that shoes were an easy problem to solve. Kate had recommended dancing in tennis shoes until the new floor was installed. Professionals wear special dance shoes, but there was no telling how into our new hobby we would get.
I said, “After school just go to the mall and pick up some tennis shoes.”
Basil said, “Okay. You might need to put some money into our checking account. I got gas and I took the little kids for Chik-Fil-A on Saturday.”
Money goes so fast. Basil and I have a joint checking account so that he can run errands for me and get gas to take the children to school. I can manage our account and transfer money with an app. Basil does a lot for me, but sometimes it feels like the money I transfer over goes into a black hole.
I said, “I can do that, but you might have enough in there. I expect the shoes to cost around a hundred dollars.”
After school, Basil dropped his siblings off and headed out again. By dinnertime, he still wasn’t home. I called to check on him.
“Are you coming home for dinner before class?”
“I had a pretzel at the mall.”
“Did you get your shoes?”
“I finally decided what shoes I want to buy, but I have to pick them up.”
I figured he meant walking back to one of the many mall stores that sell shoes. Ten minutes to six I received a text from him, “Ethan Crotts was absolutely right. These shoes are amazing, and I cannot believe I have lived without them.”
I texted back, “I’m happy for you.” Then I checked his location on the stalking app I use to see where my family members are. Basil was at REI on the east side of the Rio Grande. (We live near the mall on the west side.) I called him and told him to meet me at the class and texted him the location.
Though he was ten minutes late, I had been watching his progress on my phone, and we waited for him. Kate taught us separately from the class since we knew absolutely nothing, but Basil and I caught on and by the end of the hour were even learning the steps to the easy jig!
As our time came to a close, I turned to Basil with pleading eyes and said, “What do you think Basil? Can I sign us up?”
“I will do it for you, Mom,” he said smiling his melt-my-heart grin. Kate was excited and asked us if we might join in the St. Patrick’s Day performances. Basil was agreeable to everything.
Basil walked me out to my car which was near his minivan. We hugged before parting.
“See you at home,” I said.
“See you at home. I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too.”
My heart overflowed with the joy of mothering such a sweet boy.
Then he said, “Hey Mom, since now we’ve danced, and you have us all signed up…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Maybe you won’t be so mad that I bought six-hundred-dollar shoes.”
I clutched my hands to my chest to calm the waves of hyperventilation coming over me. Six hundred dollars??? My eyes went wide and the remains of my smile from Basil’s “I love you” played oddly on my face, a reaction that Basil enjoyed.
Before I could catch my breath, he pointed at me and laughed, “Got you!”
It still took a moment for my heart to stop racing, but as soon as I collected myself, I punched him in his arm. I stomped off to my car, but I couldn’t help smiling. Yes, he got me good.
Before driving home, I logged into our checking account and looked. He had spent more than one hundred dollars, but well under two hundred. Well played, Basil. I didn’t mind the extra expense compared to six hundred dollars!
My favorite part of this story is telling it to people who know him well. For a “fraction of a minute,” they totally believe that Basil is capable of blowing six hundred dollars on a pair of shoes. It doesn’t matter that shoes don’t cost that much or that Basil doesn’t have access to that kind of money. They were as shocked as I was. I’m as bad as Basil, enjoying the looks on their faces.
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