lj idol - season 8, week 1
I have always wanted to be a dancer.
When I was six my mother enrolled me in a highland dancing class. Looking back, I have no idea why she chose that particular class as my introduction to movement, but in hindsight I’m quite happy with my highland dancing abilities, especially since I now think of it as an extension of my Scottish heritage and am perhaps absurdly proud of the fact that I can perform a Highland Fling on a moment’s notice.
My formal training ended there, however. Growing up in a single-parent home with two older siblings is not conducive to weekly instruction in jazz, tap or ballet. Instead, I spent a large portion of my formative years pining for dance classes, day dreaming of the wonderful sound of tap shoes and pretty pink of ballet skirts, and watching movies like Centre Stage while imagining myself at the American Ballet Academy.
At sixteen it seemed the universe had conspired to give me what I’d been wishing for for years. Well, in a way. I was cast, as I usually was, in the annual school musical. This year my humble Catholic school was to re-create the drama and tumult of 1940’s New York that was Guys and Dolls. Not being popular enough with the vocal director to land one of the lead roles, I was instead the only non-dancer cast as a Hot Box Girl. I didn’t think it would be a problem since most of the dances in our shows tended to focus more on general movement rather than set steps that resembled any specific style. Boy, was I in for a rude awakening. Early on in rehearsals it became clear to me and the two Hot Box Girl numbers were to be the most ambitious of the show - A Bushel and a Peck in particular - incorporating actual tap steps as well as the singing that was required for the number.
Having no idea what these steps were called and only a cursory idea of how to move my body to do them, I jumped right in. Or rather, I lopsidedly fumbled my way in. While the rest of the girls picked up the routines like seasoned professionals, I needed all the concentration and coordination I could muster to teach my feet to move in the proper way so I didn’t look like a total spaz. I managed to get most steps under my belt but one in particular proved to be my Everest - something resembling a single time step from tap dancing. An intricate combination of moves and steps, this move and my feet just did not get along. I couldn’t get into the right rhythm of when to shift my body weight and routinely missed middle parts of the sequence because of it. I started going to rehearsal early and staying late, asking the other girls to help me figure it out. There was no way I was going to be the weak link in this chain!
By the time the show opened I was doing the sequence in the halls between classes, at home while helping make dinner, pretty much anywhere where there was enough room to practice. I went to bed at night memorizing the moves and woke up in the morning from dreams of performing them perfectly in front of a full house. I was ready! The show ran, our numbers were performed flawlessly every time, and for one shining week I thought of myself as a real dancer.
Of course I’ve since forgotten the steps entirely. But that’s entirely beside the point, don’t you think?
When I was six my mother enrolled me in a highland dancing class. Looking back, I have no idea why she chose that particular class as my introduction to movement, but in hindsight I’m quite happy with my highland dancing abilities, especially since I now think of it as an extension of my Scottish heritage and am perhaps absurdly proud of the fact that I can perform a Highland Fling on a moment’s notice.
My formal training ended there, however. Growing up in a single-parent home with two older siblings is not conducive to weekly instruction in jazz, tap or ballet. Instead, I spent a large portion of my formative years pining for dance classes, day dreaming of the wonderful sound of tap shoes and pretty pink of ballet skirts, and watching movies like Centre Stage while imagining myself at the American Ballet Academy.
At sixteen it seemed the universe had conspired to give me what I’d been wishing for for years. Well, in a way. I was cast, as I usually was, in the annual school musical. This year my humble Catholic school was to re-create the drama and tumult of 1940’s New York that was Guys and Dolls. Not being popular enough with the vocal director to land one of the lead roles, I was instead the only non-dancer cast as a Hot Box Girl. I didn’t think it would be a problem since most of the dances in our shows tended to focus more on general movement rather than set steps that resembled any specific style. Boy, was I in for a rude awakening. Early on in rehearsals it became clear to me and the two Hot Box Girl numbers were to be the most ambitious of the show - A Bushel and a Peck in particular - incorporating actual tap steps as well as the singing that was required for the number.
Having no idea what these steps were called and only a cursory idea of how to move my body to do them, I jumped right in. Or rather, I lopsidedly fumbled my way in. While the rest of the girls picked up the routines like seasoned professionals, I needed all the concentration and coordination I could muster to teach my feet to move in the proper way so I didn’t look like a total spaz. I managed to get most steps under my belt but one in particular proved to be my Everest - something resembling a single time step from tap dancing. An intricate combination of moves and steps, this move and my feet just did not get along. I couldn’t get into the right rhythm of when to shift my body weight and routinely missed middle parts of the sequence because of it. I started going to rehearsal early and staying late, asking the other girls to help me figure it out. There was no way I was going to be the weak link in this chain!
By the time the show opened I was doing the sequence in the halls between classes, at home while helping make dinner, pretty much anywhere where there was enough room to practice. I went to bed at night memorizing the moves and woke up in the morning from dreams of performing them perfectly in front of a full house. I was ready! The show ran, our numbers were performed flawlessly every time, and for one shining week I thought of myself as a real dancer.
Of course I’ve since forgotten the steps entirely. But that’s entirely beside the point, don’t you think?