Standing at your small Yamaha keyboard, you tapped away at the ebony and ivory keys, your joyful squeal punctuating every other note. But you'd learned that the soft-padded buttons above the keyboard did things as well. One of them makes the notes play louder. Another, softer. Another button, a big green one, plays a demo song. Bananarama's "Venus." It's pure synthesizer instrumental, but your mom and dad can hear the lyrics in their head.
She's got it.
Yeah, baby, she's got it.
But then you start dancing. At first it's just jostling up and down, your knees pumping, your diapered bottom bouncing. Perfectly normal baby dance moves. But then you stopped jostling and started swaying your tiny hips left and right. And then you stopped swaying, let go of the keyboard with one hand and started swinging your arm back and forth. Then you stopped swinging your arm, and started twisting your head left and right, left and right, more deliberately than you normally shake your head. You squealed, then started the sequence again, back to the jostling up and down.
Four separate dance moves, three of them brand new at that moment, and not none of them taught to you.
Your dad opened up his 1996 high school yearbook and turned to the page with his picture. He remembered back to when he was voted "Best Dancer" by his class. And then he closed the book on at least one argument of nature versus nurture.
