A few weeks ago, some of us dragged our family to the Lawrence Busker Festival to watch a variety of street artists (a. k. a. buskers) you should their things.
Crowds meandered from the act to act, watching death-defying achievements of skill and bravery, just seasoned with a healthy dose together with (sometimes bawdy) humor. Magicians consumed — and breathed fire. One particular unicyclist with impressive credentials (reigning champion of the galaxy, or such as that) rode a 12-foot large unicycle while making dirty laughs and poking fun at Topeka, and a one-man band churned ordinary classics from an astonishing contraption in a tight to his body. At the end of just about every performance, the performers unabashedly been approved their hats. Kids of all weights ran up to plop in arrêtés of all sizes.
We’d seen every day fill of acts, and the a youngster were squawking — they have to go home. A crowd of spectators approved, leaving us in the front seatrow for the next act. I read the structure to see what act would be next one.
“It’s a strong woman, ” Authored said. I was ambivalent; watching you lift an anvil — or it may be whatever she would do — were only mildly interesting.
“Look, presently there she is, ” my husband pointed. In the polka dot phone case pinup-type outfit, Mama Lou, American Strong Woman, stepped into the road to set up her act.
She danced a little to upbeat background music, exhibited smiles at the audience and got — well — having a fun time. I immediately liked her, now did the rest of my family. We agreed to stay for her performance.
We witnessed her smear on bright ruddy lipstick and arrange some possessions she would soon destroy with her open hands — a metal string, a phone book to be toned in half, a frying pan she’d crumple.
“I know what you’re entertaining the idea of, ” she began. “You’re entertaining the idea of, ‘She doesn’t look that tough! ’”
It was true. Although your wife was fit, she hardly was particularly muscular or mighty.
Your girl quickly moved on to the business together with breaking a chain with her bare biceps, segueing into the first of her a lot of people proverbial quips.
“Don’t judge an e-book by its cover, ” your wife advised.
Each of Mama Lou’s achievements of amazing strength was accompanied by nuggets of encouragement, reminders that we will all strong and praise so that makes us unique.
“Whatever you write in your life, make sure your mama’s proud of we all, ” she said after proving the young audience how to rupture a pencil with their butt muscles and tendons. “My mama’s very proud of others, ” she added.
Do what we should love, even if it’s kind of unique … find your inner power packs … recognize that there’s more in front of large audiences than what meets the eye … take in yourself … be a superhero….
I became happy to see my children lapping off the floor all she had to offer — playing her message with rapt health care. The whole family declared her the best procedure of the day; we were glad we stuck.
I hope they learned another driving session she didn’t articulate, but a specific she demonstrated. Her smiles associated with laughs were genuine, her need encourage others authentic, her action unpretentious. In my opinion, her best driving session was that the greatest strength a person can finish is to exuberantly be themselves.
Overland Park mom and freelancer Emily Parnell writes alternate weeks.
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