They See Me Ballin'
I doubt that anyone has ever seen me and thought "that guy must be really light on his feet". My social grace is questionable, my physical grace even more so. I joined the ballroom dance class completely on a whim, and hardly had the courage to do it until I subscribed my roommate Guy Todaro to do it with me. He took a mutual friend of ours, Vicky Nguyen while I took my mother.
Yup. My mom was my dance partner. Social grace!
My mom was a line dancer in college due to the registration difficulties. She did not want to do it, and yet for two classes she learned how to handle herself. I was pleasantly surprised to find out my mom and I were able to dance better together than Guy was with Vicky. Did I chuckle to myself and feel high and mighty for it? Did I keep my snarky remarks to myself? Abosultely not.
We danced for 6 weeks total together, and worked on routines such as the Foxtrot, Quickstep, Tango, and Waltz. We were the best at Tango. One of the most incredible components of this experience was feeling like I was schoolmates with my mom. Until you get to college age, your parents have a unique kind of authority over you, and this places a limit on your friendship. Now I am on my own for the most part, and somewhat self-sufficient, my mom and I were able to enjoy one another's company on another level. It was a wonderful new kind of mother-son bonding time, and though it may have been awkward to hear my mom joke about old boyfriends with Vicky, I can think of few better ways to bond with her.
Every day, after class, the four of us would go to Centercourt together (the traditionally freshman food court) and joked around. Most of the time, it was about college, puns, or our intense instructor. My mom and I joked that we were the class rejects, forced to wear the dunce cap in the corner while everyone else danced with finesse. I have never seen my mom happier than when we would all cool off with soda after a good hour of dance.
So am I a good dancer yet? My response would be a wholehearted no, but with a special footnote. Now, because of the time I spent with my wonderful roommate and my graceful mother, I am confident enough to move around a dance floor, if only because of the laughter and fond memories that guide every misplaced step.
Yup. My mom was my dance partner. Social grace!
My mom was a line dancer in college due to the registration difficulties. She did not want to do it, and yet for two classes she learned how to handle herself. I was pleasantly surprised to find out my mom and I were able to dance better together than Guy was with Vicky. Did I chuckle to myself and feel high and mighty for it? Did I keep my snarky remarks to myself? Abosultely not.
We danced for 6 weeks total together, and worked on routines such as the Foxtrot, Quickstep, Tango, and Waltz. We were the best at Tango. One of the most incredible components of this experience was feeling like I was schoolmates with my mom. Until you get to college age, your parents have a unique kind of authority over you, and this places a limit on your friendship. Now I am on my own for the most part, and somewhat self-sufficient, my mom and I were able to enjoy one another's company on another level. It was a wonderful new kind of mother-son bonding time, and though it may have been awkward to hear my mom joke about old boyfriends with Vicky, I can think of few better ways to bond with her.
Every day, after class, the four of us would go to Centercourt together (the traditionally freshman food court) and joked around. Most of the time, it was about college, puns, or our intense instructor. My mom and I joked that we were the class rejects, forced to wear the dunce cap in the corner while everyone else danced with finesse. I have never seen my mom happier than when we would all cool off with soda after a good hour of dance.
So am I a good dancer yet? My response would be a wholehearted no, but with a special footnote. Now, because of the time I spent with my wonderful roommate and my graceful mother, I am confident enough to move around a dance floor, if only because of the laughter and fond memories that guide every misplaced step.