Street Cred...If You're Talking About a Suburban Cul-de-Sac

Freestone is the kid who always says no.  Soccer?  Basketball?  Ballet?  Baseball?  Science camp?  No, no, no, no, and no thanks.  But when his cousins started exhibiting some cool hip hop moves, I asked him if he wanted to be in their hip hop class and he said...yes!  I hastily signed him up at Studio 1, the awesome studio run by Clint's mom, Jean Taylor, because I wanted him to have a group experience and get some exercise.  He's tried all the sports, but he just doesn't have a competitive nature.  He's fine with not getting anywhere near the ball.  The other kids can take care of that while he creates worlds in his mind, his mitt perched on top of his head, his hat held upright in his outstretched hand, in case a fly ball crashes through the atmosphere of Freetopia.

Freestone has enjoyed being in the class with his cousin Jake and swapping moves with Cade and Austin at family parties.  But he was not excited about the prospect of being onstage.  He's seen what that's like, and even the audience is too close for comfort.  A safer place, according to Free, is home with the Kindle.  Hip hop has to have bravado, but Free's attitude only got him far enough to pretend he wasn't scared of performing.  Merely disinterested.  On the way to the dreaded event, he kept saying, "I'm going to fall down on purpose and get a concussion and not be able to go onstage."  I hate to admit it, but I thought Freestone's first hip hop recital would be a group of kids acting all urban, spinning and popping while Freestone blew spit bubbles and pondered the pros and cons of his new Converse, trying to act like he was too cool to care that he was making a fool of himself in front of the whole audience.

Oh ye of little faith!  Freestone came out onstage and rocked it!  Some of the boys have been taking hip hop for years, and Free has only been at it for a month, but his teacher made his rudimentary moves look good, and also, strategically placed him in the back.  But he demonstrated some swagger!  The kid was good!  Well, OK, he was a nine-year-old suburban white kid with four classes under his belt, but I personally thought he was great.  See for yourself!

On the way out of the recital, Free said, "Well, I guess I never have to go to hip hop again now that that's over."  I said, "Yeah, not until Friday!"  He groaned, but secretly smiled and did a little skip.