I always have this memory of my Mom dancing in the kitchen all the time. We had a really bad radio – so bad you had to put your finger in it to change the music, so you were always at risk of being electrocuted every time you went to change the channel. And the songs would come on in the kitchen and my Mom would just dance, and she was always sad. I suppose it’s the experience a lot of people have as immigrants. She loved to dance so much and was so sad because she always thought people didn’t dance enough. She was a Haitian woman. She was round. So I don’t exactly dance like that, but not completely different either.