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.
