So You Think You Can Dance...Really? In That Outfit?

Let me start by making a little confession. I have a dancer's heart. But it is stuck in Attila the Hun's body.

Allow me to be more gentle with myself.

I have always loved dancing but I am well aware that I have some physical limitations. I can't tell you the hours and hours and hours and hours and hours of dance time I logged in that basement bedroom on Hatteras in front of the big mirror on my dresser. I would pop one of my many homemade cassette tape mixes in the big, black boom box and lose myself in some other world. Sometimes it was the bouncy beat of Madonna and Cyndi Lauper, other times it was the melancholy of Air Supply and sometimes it was the funk of R&B. Nothing was off limits.

I loved my stint on the Pom Team freshmen year. I was DEVASTATED when I didn't make the team sophomore year. And making the Highlanders team my junior year had the emotional equivalence of winning an Academy Award. I loved to dance.

I loved dancing in hot pink shiny pants in the church roadshow. I thrilled at the dancers in the City of Joseph pageant who were thrown in the air and tossed about like popcorn. Gravity pulls stronger on some people than others so I was never invited to be tossed but oh how I dreamed. I actually tried taking formal dance lessons one time during my senior year but it absolutely killed the joy. It made me feel heavy and uncoordinated. I didn't like being TOLD how to dance. So I quit and reverted back to my bedroom and homemade cassette tapes. I tried it once again at Rick's College...took a dance class that I loved. I stayed in the back of the room and tried to avoid the mirror. I always felt more graceful than I looked.

And so I carry my love of dance locked away in a special corner of my heart. I still dream of singing and dancing on Broadway...I have my songs picked out and ready for when that chance is handed to me (I Dreamed a Dream, couple of great numbers from Secret Garden, and my 2 favorites from Wicked). I am also ready to dance. Hand me those shiny, hot pink dance pants...I'm ready.

Now here is the point.

Tonight my boys took off for the mountains to camp and be men. HB and I were left to our own devices and so after a quick consult with my weekly entertainment guide from Thursday's newspaper, I selected what I thought would be a fun, "girlie" experience. A "Dancing Under the Stars" spectacular at the outdoor Scera shell theater. My 4-year old daughter also has a dancer's heart and I envisioned us sitting on a blanket under the dreamy night sky sharing a tender moment as our hearts took flight. But as it has a way of doing, reality crept in. Actually, reality is never that subtle. It just plopped itself down and took over our blanket.

We stopped for a light KFC dinner and headed to the park. We paid our dues, found a place to spread out our blanket, and dug in. Dinner was great although HB ate more Whoppers than chicken. Then she wanted to go play. And when the actual dancing part of the show started, she pooped in her underwear and announced that she wanted to go home. After some whining and serious stink (I'm not kidding about the poop...I just didn't have alot of options. I thought we were pass this part of childhood...didn't come prepared), HB laid herself down on the blanket, told me she was going to take a nap, and promptly fell into a deep, deep sleep. The stink was overwhelming so I double wrapped her in the blanket and prayed the wind would stay downwind.

And I haven't even gotten to the "dancing" part yet.

I guess I missed the part where they said this was basically a glorified dance recital for a local studio called "Center Stage". While they have a national reputation and have turned out dancers who have appeared all over the country, they did a fabulous job tonight making me sick to my stomach and really mad.

The first charming number had a bunch of 1st and 2nd graders dressed in their adorable hot pink short shorts with their black knee socks, and ghetto tennis shoes bumping, grinding, and shimmying to some song about "pimpin' out your car" and "lettin' me be your girlfriend." Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

The whole evening alternated between:

a) Really whinny slow songs full of teenage angst and dancers with flexed toes and jerky dancing b) Hard core rap and hip hop with costumes that really didn't have enough fabric to be called clothing.

c) Ballroom dancing with lots of hip and "cha-chas" (think metaphorically) flying everywhere

and

d) An occasional number done by a real professional dancer that was actually good.

There was even one dance that involved some type of metal cage and a few dance steps that looked a little like pole dancing.

Now keep in mind...with the exception of the 2-3 professional dancers they had, the majority of the numbers were being performed by the studio's teenage dancers. High schoolers. You know, the ones we spend all our time worrying about because of their low morals and disrespect for virute, modesty, chastity, reverence, etc.

I'm not saying that the dancers weren't talented. There obviously were some very talented dancers. But I couldn't believe what this studio was teaching them. Children are children. The period of time they spend in childhood is so short. Why are we dressing them up and pimping them out and teaching them to act like adults? And then why do we act surprised when they start imitating adult behaviors and bad habits at an earlier age than we can comprehend? I have attended many dance performances. And I have left many of them filled with joy and respect for the human body and its ability to express such majesty through movement. But tonight felt really base. I hated the costumes, the music, and the choreography. I was disgusted that there was a dance studio with the potential to teach beauty that was teaching a cheap imitation instead.

I was glad that my daughter was asleep on the blanket. I was embarassed by what was being shown and we left early. It wasn't dancing to me. I know what dancing feels and looks like. It makes me happy and carefree and can make me feel beautiful. It always makes me marvel at the divinity of the human body and our capabilities. It makes me celebrate the real joy in life. It feels my heart with all the possibilities of the world. Tonight I didn't feel any of those things. Tonight was not real dancing to me and I am disappointed and sad. And I wanted the parents of those dancers to care more about what these dances and costumes and music were saying to their children about the world than the few moments in the spotlight on a stage in Orem.

I'm going to go find my Mariah Carey cassette mix and do me some dancing. My heart needs a little boost tonight...