dancing was not a part of most children in small town rural, mennonite nebraska.  but one school teacher (non-native) ran a dance studio out of her basement and more forward parents allowed their daughters classes in tap, jazz, ballet.

i was not one of these fortunate daughters.

every spring was the big dance recital.  and the following day in school the few dancing girls in my class would preform a re-enactment show-n-tell.  my elementary best friend, andrea, was the ring leader of these dances. they would put on their matching outfits, the loose fitting lime green top with sequence around the neck and arms with an attached black swimsuit-like bottom, nude tights, jazz shoes, a silver sequence hair piece

and dance to ‘wooly bully’

i was mesmerized. and jealous.  envious. the closest i ever got to organized dance was a choreographed routine my cousin and i made to ‘jesus is still alright with me’ by d.c. talk. i should really use the word ‘choreograph’ loosely.

some girls owned paula abdul’s ‘shut up and dance,’ i owned a recording of a dance special which i kept in my room and whenever i was the only one home, i would put in the vhs tape and practice my ‘tootsie roll.’

somewhere inside of me is a secret ballerina. or maybe she’s a hip hop dancer. or maybe contemporary.  whoever she is, she exists and some have seen her exhibitions.

its no wonder than, that i am mildly obsessed with ‘so you think you can dance.’ i mean, i’m a bit giddy that the summer season was closely followed with a fall season.  so much dance. so much goodness. and yes most of the time i wish it were me with moves that could make mary murphy scream ‘hot tamale’