A Poet and a Dancer
Yesterday Christopher went to Vienna to take part in a “Poetry Slam”, a competition reading of original poetry. He has been going to poetry slams in Linz, where he even won first prize one night, so he was one of three people from Upper Austria invited to take part in the national competition in Vienna last night. He didn’t make it into the finals – the top four – but he only missed that by one point, which put him in fifth place. Of the 22 competitors, Christopher was the youngest, so it was quite an impressive achievement. Since he came home this afternoon running a high fever and said he wasn’t feeling well yesterday, but he thought he was just nervous, performing his own poetry before a packed audience in Vienna last night must have been hard work for him. I’m trying to resist the temptation to hover over him now and to keep asking him whether he has a headache by concentrating on how very impressed I am with my talented son.
Meanwhile, Patrick has gone to dancing school this afternoon. Last year he adamantly rejected the idea of going to dancing school, when most of his class was going (during secondary school Austrian kids go to dancing school the way high school kids go to driving school in Southern California). This year, however, when his schedule leaves him absolutely no free time, he has decided to spend his weekends practicing the waltz and ballroom dancing. Patrick does not approve of me attempting to take pictures with my phone, so I can’t prove it, but I think he looks absolutely gorgeous in his dark suit and ballroom dancing shoes with his long golden curls. Naturally, Patrick is quite adept at waltzing, and apparently he can take his pick of dancing partners, but I have the impression that his old feminist mother may need to have a little talk with him about his attitude. He may well be the young prince of the ballroom, but I certainly don’t want any son of mine to hurt the feelings of the less fortunate girls lined up along the wall waiting for a partner.
Which century is this?!
Apart from poetry and dancing, both of my sons returned from France in September with a rather startling new enthusiasm for rugby. For the final match tonight, it seems that there is going to be a party with an as yet unspecified large number of teenagers coming here to watch it. Christopher is not exactly fit for a party this evening, but he says he still wants to watch the game with all their friends. I’m going to assume he will be all right and escape when the boys’ friends start arriving to go out with some of my friends – not watching rugby.
Meanwhile, Patrick has gone to dancing school this afternoon. Last year he adamantly rejected the idea of going to dancing school, when most of his class was going (during secondary school Austrian kids go to dancing school the way high school kids go to driving school in Southern California). This year, however, when his schedule leaves him absolutely no free time, he has decided to spend his weekends practicing the waltz and ballroom dancing. Patrick does not approve of me attempting to take pictures with my phone, so I can’t prove it, but I think he looks absolutely gorgeous in his dark suit and ballroom dancing shoes with his long golden curls. Naturally, Patrick is quite adept at waltzing, and apparently he can take his pick of dancing partners, but I have the impression that his old feminist mother may need to have a little talk with him about his attitude. He may well be the young prince of the ballroom, but I certainly don’t want any son of mine to hurt the feelings of the less fortunate girls lined up along the wall waiting for a partner.
Which century is this?!
Apart from poetry and dancing, both of my sons returned from France in September with a rather startling new enthusiasm for rugby. For the final match tonight, it seems that there is going to be a party with an as yet unspecified large number of teenagers coming here to watch it. Christopher is not exactly fit for a party this evening, but he says he still wants to watch the game with all their friends. I’m going to assume he will be all right and escape when the boys’ friends start arriving to go out with some of my friends – not watching rugby.
posted by Aileen at Saturday, October 20, 2007
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