I read Harry Potter before it was cool. I get a distinct pleasure knowing that hordes of fans arrived breathlessly on the scene to find me relaxing in my metaphorical armchair. That was the only time I managed to get ahead of the crowd-until now. I’m happy to report that I’ve once again anticipated the Next Big Thing.
I allude, of course, to ballroom dance. For years, it has been the best-kept secret on the college scene. While the uninitiated scoffed at our supposedly “stiff and formal” dancing, we smiled knowingly and practiced swiveling our hips. Now, movies like Mad Hot Ballroom and shows like Dancing with the Stars have begun to strip away the stereotypes and expose ballroom to an entirely new audience.
But I began two years ago. I had never danced before in my life, unless you count the “prom sway.” I had all the grace of a puppy who hadn’t yet grown into his paws. There I stood, on the night of my first lesson, in a line of guys facing a line of girls. I knew that any second, my lack of skills would be on display for all to see.
That night I realized three things. First, I couldn’t dance. Second, no one else there could either. But third, and most importantly, we all could learn.
Buzz Lightyear once said that flying was just “falling with style.” Dancing is nothing more than walking with style. If you can place one foot in front of the other while music plays in the background, you have sufficient skill to take your first dance lesson.
More lessons followed the first, and within a month, I was dancing socially. A month later I had competed at my first ballroom competition at College Park, MD, and placed in several of the events. In fact, quite a few of my fellow students placed too. Suddenly the fear was gone. Maybe I could dance after all.
I began to discover the sheer variety of the dances I could learn. First, there are the Latin dances-rumba, sultry and sensual; cha cha, fast and flirty; Samba, with its Brazilian rhythm and syncopation; and the bouncy fun of Jive.
Then come the Standard dances-the spinning rush of the waltz; the suave, debonair foxtrot; the raw passion of the tango; and the peppy velocity of the quickstep. An evening spent at a ballroom dance is a tour de force of dance and musical styles.
As a ballroom dancer, I’ve heard all the stereotypes. No, I’m not required to wear a tuxedo when I go out dancing socially, nor do my partners wear enormous poofy dresses (unless they really want to). Typically, costumes are only worn in competition, and then only by the higher level dancers.
And no, ballroom dance is not stiff, formal and devoid of passion. In fact, it has often been accused of just the opposite. Famed 1920s evangelist Billy Sunday remarked that if “you sow the dance and the ballroom . . . you reap a crop of brothels.”
Ballroom has become a mindset for me now. I think nothing of walking up to a complete stranger and introducing myself with three minutes of pelvis-to-pelvis connection set to music. While listening to the radio, I often annoy my non-dancing friends by pointing out what style of dance is suitable for each song. By the way, “Baby Got Back” is a cha cha.
