“One must have madness in one's soul to give birth to a dancing star”
----Friedrich Nietzsche
Sometime in the mid aughts I got this phone call from my daughter. “Am I alright?” she asked me with a mix of frustration and desperation. Another one of those conversations I thought to myself. “Why, have you been talking to your grandmother again? You know why we call her 'Nanna the Nut.” We both laughed out loud.
It had been a standing joke between us since she was little, when Nanna tried to convince her mother that my 'shoes', as I call her because she is as comfortable as an old pair of shoes, suffers from A.D.D. In this family one is either ill or pre-ill, always, it seemed, in need of intervention. “Am I O.K. Daddy?” she demanded to know, deep into her primary school years. “Yes,” I assured her, “you are disgustingly normal”. I could tell by the body language that she had taken the advice. I could see the shoulders sag, I could see the tension disappear. Calm had returned.
“ Who told you had A.D.D?” I asked knowing the answer. Like any good attorney I never ask the question unless I know the answer. “Nanna” she replied.
“And what do we call Nanna?” I asked her. “Nanna the Nut”, she blurted out through suppressed laughter.
“Yes. And Why do we call her Nanna the Nut?”, I intoned.
I don't know“
“Because she's a NUT”, I replied. We both laughed out loud till we cried. I was teaching her, at a tender age, the concept of source evaluation.
But this was an entirely different exchange. She was a young adult now, in her early twenties, fresh out of High School.
“No, it's not Nanna this time. My problem is that I can't talk fast enough to keep up with my head. My mind races and by the time I catch up with it I get lost in my train of thought. Things kind of disappear over the horizon. It's why I talk so fast and everyone complains about it thinking I've got some kind of nervous condition”.
“I understand”
“You have it too?” she asked.
“Yeah, but it will subside as you get older. It's not a condition, certainly not one to be treated. You are merely moving at the speed of thought. It's not quite as fast as the speed of light, but it will outstrip your peers. Some will recognize it and challenge you telling you that they know you can do better. Others will be put off, even frightened by it. Pay them no mind. They don't understand, and they won't understand. It's your special gift. Treasure it. These are not voices in your mind, it is your own voice, your own subconscious telling you, articulating what you already know. Capture it,and occasional wisdom will be gleaned therefrom. Some will call it madness; I prefer to call it dancing.
I understood then and there that I had created a kindred spirit and, thereafter, we would leap-frog over one another in conversation in mental games of one upsmanship, each racing ahead of the other in sometimes heated but always joyous combat. It is our ritual. When she begins to feel stagnant, when life has dulled her blades, she seeks out her father. She returns to the grindstone in order to sharpen her edges and prepare to combat the world. She has learned to dance on the ice, with all the confidence in the world.
I love you my “Dancing Star”.
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