As she does every year, the principal sent out the “no grinding” email to parents, encouraging us to discourage our hormone-raging teens from doing the dirty dancing deed. For those of you who don’t have teenagers, grinding is apparently the dance style of choice for today’s teens and consists of simulating sex while trying to avoid being “flashlighted” by a chaperone.
I’m a child of the 80’s. Even when we slow danced – which was always, ALWAYS, to Freebird – we weren’t body to body. Nope, the girl had her hands around the guy’s neck, his around her waist, and we stood apart (leaving enough room for the holy ghost between us…as my friend’s dad would say) and rocked back and forth and in a circle like we were wind up wooden soldiers on the verge of tipping over.
Being parents of teenagers, my husband and I take our role very seriously. We know and understand that it is our responsibility to embarrass our kids whenever possible. So we seized the sex-dance moment, right there in our kitchen.
Me to the kids: “So, I got the ‘no-grinding’ email from school today.”
Kids: no comment…just blank stares
My husband: “Grinding? What’s grinding? Like your teeth? Why would you grind your teeth at a dance?”
Kids: no comment…eye roll…audible sigh
Me: “No – grinding is how they dance now. It looks like they’re simulating…”
My son (a junior): “STOP! We don’t grind mom…ok? Just stop!”
Husband: “Well how do you dance then? Like this?”
We tuned into the 80s channel on the satellite radio. My husband got up and did the “white man” dance which involves only body parts from the waist up to “Billie Jean.”
Me: “Or how about this?”
I launch into “the shopping car”, “the sprinkler”, and “the Maniac” move from Flashdance.
Then, we tried our version of grinding. Facing each other (which I guess, right off the bat is wrong) I looked like I was trying to free a massive wedgie without my hands and my husband looked like he was a having a seizure or trying out an invisible hula hoop.
It was a magical, reminiscent moment (minus shoulder pads, parachute pants and leg warmers)…until he threw his back out and I strained my neck.
It’s all fun and games til someone ends up bed with a heating pad.