After I saw Flashdance and Footloose, I wanted to be a dancer. I wanted to pirouette like the ballerina in a music box. I wanted to be the one who added the FuN and FLASH to a performance. I wanted to be—-a Backup Dancer!
So I asked my Mom, “Can I take dance lessons?”
She said, “Sure. Just drive yourself.”
I was 12. The only studio was 40 minutes away.
But guess who loves to dance? That’s right. My Mom. So later on, she suddenly told me and my sister that we would all take dance lessons. I couldn’t believe it! I was SO ExCiTed!!
We arrived early at the dance studio. It had a clear divider in the middle, and on the other side I watched little girls in pink tutus. I thought, “I’m going to be a ballerina and wear pink!” My Mom is the best! But then, she said, “Here’s your grass skirt. We’re learning the Hula. I’ve always wanted to learn the Hula.”
HULA?!? We are NOT in Hawaii! No professional dancer does the Hula. Hula is NOT ballet. And more importantly—There is NO Hula Backup Dancer!
My mom held two grass skirts—pink and green. At least, I thought, I can wear pink. But My Hula Mom said, “You wear the green. I don’t like it.” Of course my grass skirt was the color of grass. What’s next? A coconut bra? So now I looked like the coin in the game of Sipa.
For three excruciating weeks, I watched the cute girls in their fluffy tutus prance on the Heavenly side of the glass, while I hellishly swayed my nonexistent hips. My Hula Mom had a blast, my sister didn’t care, and my Dance Dream died—-on the shores of Pearly Shells.
Dance dreams or dance genes?
I’ve always loved musicals for their big dance numbers. I would imagine I was one of the kicking backup dancers in the crowd. My son CB and I watched my favorite musicals together: The Sound of Music, Singin’ in the Rain and Annie. When CB was three, he would dance to Singin’ in the Rain and we cheered as if he were Gene Kelly.
By the time he was six, CB was enrolled in Jazz, Hip-Hop, Tap, but disliked Ballet. And no, I never pushed Hula. I was now a recreational Dance Mom. My later Cubs, CN and AC also took dance. Later, all three became officers of their Breakdance Club in their high school. CB still goes to BBoy sessions and the other two continue to dance in school events.
Please make room for eager dancers!
While waiting for CB at his early dance, I noticed an Adult Beginner Hip Hop class. Now that I could drive myself, I decided to try it. I was with teens, and I wasn’t the worst, which is all I aim for. But it didn’t matter, because I was SO HAPPY every time I danced. So I kept dancing, as I kept driving the Cubs to dance classes. Now that CB has a beard, we’ve gone to Hip Hop together. There were a few moms dancing with their kids too.
It’s been decades since I started my first Beginner Hip Hop. I’ve been injured a few times. But I’m still dancing. My torn knees insist I stay at the “slower” Beginner class. But I don’t mind being a Professional Beginner Dancer. I just want to dance. Dance is the only thing I look forward to in my Wash, Rinse, Repeat Life. I will dance until I Line Dance in my walker.
Now, a Legit dance studio opened up near me. I can’t believe it’s in Silicon Valley near the Apple HQ. The classes are always full and I marvel at all these Gen Zs whose moms DRIVE them to dance class. In a nerd school district like ours, parents pressure their kids to be (boring) lawyers, doctors, or engineers. Few will waste time and money on dance.
I just watched a Summer Dance Battle, and the 22 YO winner was with his mom in a roomful of teens and young adults. I’m jealous that these kids get to dance from a young age when I couldn’t. Yet I’m grateful they have parents who graciously support their dance passion.
The pursuit of Art is powered by love, not gain. We dance because we love it, not to make money, but to move our souls to music. It’s not for everyone—-because most people are STIFFS! And many kids will never make dance their career. If they do, they can never afford to move out.
From inception, parenting is a losing proposition. It’s endless giving, constant worrying, and forever money draining. So knowing that dance likely has no future, yet knowing that dance delights your child, you can choose to be a Blessed Parent and just Fork It Over—-and give your child the Gift of Dance.
And why wouldn’t we? We don’t raise kids so we can make money out of them anyway. Give your dancer what she wants. Let her live her dream before she’s disillusioned. Let her feed her spirit while she’s carefree. Soon, she’ll grow up grateful to you, and generous like you, and do the dishes. Though she may never become rich nor famous—-at least she won’t write about how you tortured her with Hula.
