dancing queen

it all started because i was impatient.
i wanted out... and out i came, two and a half months early at a shocking two and a half pounds. rather serious in the late seventies. my parents were told not to notify anyone for the first 48 hours as my chances of actually surviving were slim. after a few days in the incubator, i was still kicking, but my mum was still warned that there might be later ramifications and consequences in my overall health and development. four weeks later, at a whopping four and a half pounds, i was sent home, and became part of a study about the development of pre-term babies.
over the next few years, i tested exceedingly well in terms of cognitive skills. where i lacked? hand-eye coordination. so the white coats recommended that my mother place me in ballet classes at the tender age of (i estimate roughly) three.
and, dance i did. it was not only therapy, but grew to be something i loved. so much, in fact, that i begged to continue in weekly classes. it was the first thing i ever loved.
i grew up, my flaxen hair growing darker and blue eyes turning to cool green, and danced through my parents' house.
i've already discussed about my love for flashdance.
i longed to be teenager so i could shake it on network shows.
then i just wanted to be paula abdul.
next, i got serious and wanted to dance for janet jackson (and memorized almost every move of the videos she released during the rhythm nation era)
note: looking back, i think there's a definite split between aspiring dancers of my age range. it was either madonna or janet. now, i can appreciate the inherent sensuality of madonna's sexecution, but janet was always my dancer, fo' real.
later, i was elated to be accepted into the joffrey ballet summer program at the tender age of thirteen. (at the audition, i nailed my fouette turns and smiled at the judges even though i almost knocked over another girl with my enthusiasm).
(okay readers. now i'm crying. out of sheer nostalgic delight).
longing to be a fly girl, bending the stiff soles of my pointe shoes in the door frame of my teenage bedroom, going back to janet...

... all of this ruled my early teenage life.
until it happened. my body changed. breasts took over my once small frame like unwelcome aliens, and i lost it. buried deep under a thick layer of teen angst and a budding love for theater and art, i forgot dance. i acquiesced somehow to the fear that i'd never have the skill or the body to really make it.
sure, i danced in high school and in my first year of college, but as years passed and my once lithe muscles groaned with the extra effort of being pulled into inhuman angles, i gave up.
upon moving to new york a year ago, i found myself confronted by the question, "but are you dancing?" more than once or twice. from my parents, childhood friends, even my old dance partner from my studio days.
it was enough to get me started again.
not enough to claim a front row position and rock every move with my substantially heavier body, but i started.
and posting this is reminder enough to keep me at it.