When I was 5, I took ballet lessons. I have no idea if I was any good, because I also stopped taking ballet lessons when I was 5, so I barely remember it. I do know that the lessons did not have any lasting effects, because I am hopelessly devoid of grace or fluidity when I walk from my desk to the copier, let alone when I dance. These days, I no longer even bother attempting to dance while sober. This limits my dance opportunities to a handful of occasions per year, which is really in the best interest of all mankind.
I have known this about myself since about middle school, and though I would attend nearly every school dance, I wouldn't actually dance. I would go to stand on the wall with my friends and talk about boys. When a song came on that I just couldn't resist, I would dance badly anyway, hoping everyone else was enjoying their dancing enough not to notice me. My senior prom, when dancing to "YMCA," my date complained, "I can't keep up with you, you keep changing your beat." I blamed it on my shoes being too slippery on the dance floor.
I've been watching So You Think You Can Dance for several months now (thanks to its back-to-back seasons) with unmitigated envy. I am awed by the absolute control some humans have over their own bodies, while I stumble just playing Dance Dance Revolution. While I was watching last week's episode, my toddler glanced at the TV and then began mimicking the dancer's moves. He was really trying, and was able to accurately copy a couple of her steps. I called my husband in to watch.
"Look, that's the same move! He got it right!" I bragged, "He's going to be good at anything he tries." And I will be proud of him in all of his endeavors, but I can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. If he is a good dancer, it won't have anything to do with my gene contribution. Hopefully when he's a professional dancer, he'll give his poor mother lessons.
