So I think I can dance
– in front of my bathroom mirror
So Hollister’s dancer extraordinaire Sammy Ramirez made it
through a couple rounds of the FOX TV show
”
So You Think You Can Dance,
”
but was ultimately eliminated after getting a little more face
time on last week’s show.
So I think I can dance – in front of my bathroom mirror
So Hollister’s dancer extraordinaire Sammy Ramirez made it through a couple rounds of the FOX TV show “So You Think You Can Dance,” but was ultimately eliminated after getting a little more face time on last week’s show.
He and his family and friends are rightfully proud, as he competed with a smile and wore the same grin after he was told he would not be continuing. I was proud that a kid from San Benito High School made it to a national stage, which can only help his dancing and choreography career.
My dancing and choreography career is another matter, as I can’t quite compete with the fluid movements that Sammy displays.
When I was in college and visited “the clubs” with my friends, I would occasionally hit the dance floor, which was often a dark, sweaty mass of humanity bathed in the thumping bass of hip-hop music and blinded by strobe lights. There was comfort in the anonymity and darkness, so I participated.
At my wedding, I enjoyed the slow dance that my new bride and I shared, as it is tradition and I wasn’t required to show any rhythm. I even did a few “fast dances,” as the spirit of the occasion swept me up.
Like many men, I do not consider myself a great social dancer. Put me in the center of the dance floor at a brightly-lit wedding reception, and I freeze up like the Wizard of Oz’s Tin Man without oil. Put me in my bathroom in front of my full-length mirror, and I’ve got more flexibility than the Scarecrow.
When the music is right, I’ll dance in front of my sons – which often embarrasses them but also makes them laugh – and I’ll dance in front of, behind, or around my wife – which usually irritates her.
“Oh, now you’re willing to dance,” she’ll say, reminding me of my unwillingness to dance in social situations.
At her birthday party in April, I had just injured my knee so I physically could not dance when a group of us went to dinner, a comedy show and dancing afterwards. I was given a pass on that occasion, but she still got to dance with her friends.
But my knee will eventually heal and I’m sure their will be another occasion where the DJ will play some jam that will get the ladies screaming and pulling their men by the wrist to the dance floor.
I wish I could lose my trepidation about dancing in public. Based on my self-evaluation in my bathroom mirror, I can move pretty well to the beat – though I’m not sure if my moves honed during the late 80s and early 90s will translate to the modern dance floor.
I wish I could be that guy who jumps out on the dance floor with no fear of how I’ll be judged. I’d like to think I can dance better than many of the men I see flailing around the floor at social events, moving arms and legs in random ways while biting their lower lip.
I laugh at those guys, and I don’t want to be one of them.
I want to make my wife happy, because she, like most women, has the confidence to dance in public. Women, as they are nurturers by nature, often form a circle of femininity on the dance floor, moving in groups of five or six to the beat while their husbands sit on the sideline sipping a beer and talking about our glory days in high school or some such nonsense.
You will not see a group of guys forming a circle of masculinity on the dance floor after saying “Come on Chuck, let’s hit the dance floor. This is my song!”
Perhaps I will regain the confidence I once had in public dance venues. That confidence is now only there when no one but my cat is watching. And I think even she laughs a bit when I start busting a move.
Adam Breen teaches newspaper and yearbook classes at San Benito High School and is a reporter for The Pinnacle. He is former editor of The Free Lance.
