I’m a dancer. But no one believes me.
I should note: Most of my dancing these days is relegated to the moves I use to and from the kitchen while my wife and I watch So You Think You Can Dance. And, of course, impromptu living room dance parties. (More on that below.)
As a kid and teen, I TORE up the dance floor. Sometimes, literally: I would break down cardboard boxes to use for my performance space as I danced for my family. Breakin’ obviously. But as I grew older, I found more and more people were shocked to learn I could move at all.
In college, it was perhaps expected from a theatre major that I could at least move; after all, I could act and I could sing — the three seemingly go together. That is, until you become a professional actor or professional singer. Then, it’s somewhat unexpected if you actually have more than one talent.
Think of it: whenever a Hollywood actor starts singing or tries their hand at a recording career, it’s a bit of an anomaly. The same happens when a pop singer “tries” acting. Somewhere along the line from childhood, we are expected to be good at one thing and nothing else.
It’s a perception thing.
I assume athletes have to deal with the same social stigma. For example, the most athletic kid in your gym class probably pitched for your baseball team and hit home runs, then was the quarterback when you played football. Major league pitchers are barely expected to be able to even bunt let alone play ANOTHER sport.
So back to me: I was part of a dance troupe in high school — that not only kicked ass in competition, but also performed at New York City’s The Village Gate (albeit in its waning days). We were pretty badass.
Also, my friend and I moonlighted as backup dancers for one Gloria Estefan… lookalike. Really, there’s video of us out there somewhere cutting it up on a Spanish-language TV variety show behind this celebrity impersonator. Which may diminish my badass cred, nonetheless, I could dance.
Then, you head out into the “real world,” you get a job at an office and people begin perceive you as one thing: a writer, a nerd, an actor — all of which I was in high school, but no one was taken aback by me dancing then. I suppose the venues for socially acceptable times to prove your dancing abilities dwindles as you get older. Dancing seems to be relegated to weddings, nightclubs, TV variety shows.
My younger brother — you may recall his affinity for dance from this possibly-embarrassing but endearing post — is currently a professor with bachelor’s, master’s and doctoral degrees. I am certain his students would be amazed to know he was also part of a dance troupe in college and that he himself is an amazing dancer. (It’s likely in our genetic coding.)
I dance almost daily now that I have a child.
Music always fills our house during waking hours — as it did in my childhood home — and dance parties can happen at any moment. My kid has got some moves and I cannot wait to let her loose on an unexpecting dance class.
Now that I have become a father, I fear this you-can-dance? wide-eyed look will only worsen. But, I don’t mind. I will continue to do my “daddy shimmy” even if (or especially because) it makes my toddler giggle with glee. I will dance like EVERYBODY’s watching. And I’ll show them.
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