Why I Don't Hate the Macarena (Anymore)

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by Jill L. Ferguson

The clave rhythm of the peppy Spanish dance song begins. After a brief musical intro, the lyrics start with male voices caught somewhere between singing and rap:

Dale a tu cuerpo alegria Macarena
Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegria y cosa buena
Dale a tu cuerpo alegria, Macarena
Hey Macarena
(All right)

The time is the mid-1990s and Los del Río is getting airtime all over the world with this hit song. At first, I find myself moving to the infectious beat. But then as months go by, every time the song comes on the radio, which is ad nauseam, I switch it off. I've heard it too often, and it would be fine with me if I never hear it again. I am annoyed by the song for years, until 1998 in fact, when my opinion changes at my grandmother's funeral.

My dad's mom was an incredible woman for her time period. After being told that she would never have children because she was born with half an ovary, she planned a career and became a serial entrepreneur. But because miracles do happen, she gave birth to three sons in May 1942, June 1943, and July 1944, and rather than let the boys deter her plans, she hired a housekeeper to care for them and to manage the household while she was at work.

Read more: My Daddy Hated Joe Tex's Skeevy Song 'I Gotcha,' and Now I Understand Why

By the time I was born, she had lost my grandfather years before to cancer at age 40, and she was one-third owner in a construction company where everyone assumed she was the receptionist. She was dating Bill, the widower of the woman who had been her best friend, and they married when I was barely a toddler.

From Grandma Jean, I learned the importance of writing thank you cards, which silverware to use and how to set a proper table, how to dress for the theatre, why people should travel, and how to swim (in her in-ground pool). Throughout my childhood, I got questionably appropriate gifts: preferred stock, collector dolls that could be admired but not touched or taken from their boxes, stamps in a collection, gold jewelry.  

And it wasn't until I was older and in college that we really began to relate to one another. I visited her and Grandpa Bill as they wintered in Florida, and they included me in their cocktail rituals and took me to dinners and parties with their friends. Over the years, my grandmother and I, both voracious readers, exchanged the books of Robert Ludlum, Rosamunde Pilcher, Sidney Sheldon, Danielle Steele, and other popular '80s and '90s authors, and we discussed what we read. We went to movies, musicals and theatre, and shared many, many restaurant meals.  

She introduced me to Old-Fashioneds one night, and we sipped and we pored over photos from one of their trips to see a Carol Channing impersonator. Grandma enthused over the revelry of drag shows, and then she confided to me how much she loved sex, especially blow jobs. I was shocked but made sure I didn't show it and carried on the conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world. That was the first night of many when we started relating to each other as women.

When she died in 1998, I was heartbroken to lose a grandmother and a friend. The service was proper, solemn, and fitting. It reflected the grandmother of my youth.

At the reception, when we finished the meal, my brother pulled a stuffed mechanical monkey out of a bag. He placed it on the table and turned it on. And it began to sing and dance:

Dale a tu cuerpo alegria Macarena
Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegria y cosa buena
Dale a tu cuerpo alegria, Macarena
Hey Macarena
(All right)

The English translation of the song is about giving the body joy... sexual joy. My brother had no idea what he said when he said, "Grandma would have appreciated this."

Forevermore, "Macarena" is linked to the grandmother of my adulthood, one I miss very much. And every time I hear that song start, I smile.

 

Jill L. Ferguson is an artist, the author of seven books, and the entrepreneur who founded Women's Wellness Weekends. Her hair isn't as big as it was when she was a teenaged ice and roller rink rat, but she still loves to skate.