Can you Whip? Can you Nae Nae?
Yup, me, Ellen DeGeneres, Jimmy Fallon and probably every hip person 35 and younger in the U.S.
Truth is I learned this popular dance about a month ago, from my oldest son. He’s 25 and living in New York City, so it makes sense that he would be up on the latest moves.
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What’s interesting, though, is that I learned the dance while spending a few days hanging with him in Virginia Beach, Va., where we got away from the demands of the work-a-day world for a while and attended a family member’s wedding.
Hmmm, when I was his age I’m sure I never hung out with my parents — beyond me at their home for dinner. I got along fine with David and Charlotte. Especially Mom, who was a great conversationalist and really funny. But after I moved away and made my own way in the world I wasn’t about to be out drinking and Cabbage Patching — that was a dance in the ’80s — with my mom, nor she with me.
But there we were, Trey and I sharing a hotel room to save money and spending a few days before the wedding strolling the streets of Norfolk, Portsmouth and Virginia Beach, sampling restaurants and shops and having a great time together.
I have to admit it was a bit weird sitting across the table from him as he ordered a cocktail and even more weird just casually chatting while we sipped on drinks like two college buddies or something.
I mentioned this trip to a friend who has a son about the same age. Now that he’s out of college, he’s found it’s harder for young friends to break free at the same time. So he just spends vacation with Mom and Dad.
Made some sense to me. Could be why Trey wasn’t hanging at the beach with buddies instead of hanging with his mom.
But what happened next has to be an exception. As usual Trey, who has great fashion sense, had a lot to say about which shoes, which earrings I should wear with the dress I brought for the wedding.
He was especially concerned about whether my 3-inch heels would be too high for, as he put it, me to have a good time.
Everyone who knows me knows I LOVE TO DANCE! It’s like therapy for me, and I dance every chance I get. But you know how kids are. They always think their parents’ dance is somehow cause for laughter. So while I expected I’d dance at the wedding, I figured my kid would kind of chuckle as he passed me on the dance floor.
Instead, when the music cranked up and couples filled the floor, my boy turned to me and said, “Come on, Mom, let’s go.”
My reply: “I don’t know this song, and I don’t know the dance they are all doing.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, dragging me to the floor. “Watch me. I’ll teach you.”
In a matter of minutes we were circled by a crowd of young folks, and I was matching him move for move and toe to toe, and singing at the top of my lungs;
“Do the stanky leg … Watch me whip … whip. Now watch me nae nae.”