If you want to make me insanely joyous and incredibly weepy at the same time, take me to a good dance performance. It doesn’t matter whether it is Riverdance, or a dynamic Paso Doble, or a group of pre-teens doing hip-hop, or a toddler in a tutu, I get teary-eyed. I get emotional. I get a feeling of rapture that begins somewhere in my ribcage and leaks out all over my face.
I didn’t get to take dance lessons as a child, but when the opportunity presented itself when I was an adult, I jumped on it, or rather, I tapped all over its face! A friend of mine, a former dance teacher, taught dance to adults and children, for free. Em, Kay, and I were all enrolled and performed in front of real audiences! My favorite dance memories were of doing a lyrical jazz routine to Michael Jackson’s Will You be There, clogging to George Strait’s Lay it on the Line (that was a stretch for me since I am allergic to country music,) and clogging to Dire Straits’ Walk of Life. I loved watching my little girls dance in their adorable costumes.
After moving to Utah, I was also able to sign up for free dance classes. I was learning Irish hard shoe dancing and ripped a ligament in my knee. I was out of dancing commission for almost two years. I then joined a Hebrew folk dance class, where I promptly ripped a ligament in the other knee. I determined that I was too old/fat/stiff to be bouncing around on a stage, so now I help local dancers get ready for their performances. And I still get all misty-eyed.
Now on Monday and Tuesday nights, I can be found with my eyes pasted to the TV set, watching Dancing with the Stars, and when it’s available, So You Think You Can Dance. Computer Geek can now, with great accuracy, predict the scores coming from Carrie Ann, Len, and Bruno. Don’t tell him I said so, but I think he’s a closet dancer.