Arabesque

Stepped on the scale today. Bet folks 40 miles over heard its scream! Gotta lighten that load.

Watching Dancing With the Stars reminds me of how much I love dance. I imagine myself doing the Viennese Waltz. Love the floaty dresses, smooth steps and elegance. Just something about it. I wanted so much to be a ballerina when I was little. Alas, I was told by my mom, I couldn't. Why? Because black girls weren't built the right way. Devastated I was.

Still am, to a degree. I figure Mom told me what she was told. Yet what I remember of her personality, I can't believe she bought 100% of the claim, yet there was no proof. Anyway, this day, I dream of the classic Viennese Waltz.

I imagine myself doing turn, with arm held on to my partner as I arabesque to Moon River. Ahh, great little thought. I smile at the possibility. Then for a fun, a little jive or quick step, for that other side of me. Yep, maybe no pointe shoes and tutu, but a bit of heel and glide across the floor.

I can do that.

In the meanwhile, I can lighten the load with a little less Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream. Not much less, but a little less....maybe....:)

I can do that too.

Maybe.

Dance to the History

I've been called Brown, Colored, Nigger, Black, Bronze, African-American and then by my name. Like alot of kids, with the same skin color-some lighter, some darker--we've all been told we could be anything we set our mind to.

My heart was set on being a ballerina. Wanted to dance on my toes. I was about 9 or 10, when my mom burst the Anything Bubble. She informed since I wasn't built the 'right way' I couldn't be a ballerina. So my dance teacher put me in a hula skirt because I looked 'authentic.' Granted, it could have been my knees or ankles, or maybe I wasn't built like a white girl. I don't know. I never asked about it again, even when I got older. My heart was broken. So much for being able to do anything. I still believed, but not as much.

Then comes today. A day of History. I think of my ancestors, who were slaves in Virginia, during the building of the White House. Maybe their sweat and grit built that mansion. Did they wonder if they would ever be able to do anything else? Would they always be slaves to another man? Dare not to hope, to dream, or to feel? I think of what my family and others endured to get to this moment.

As a kid I worried about only to dance on my toes. My ancestors walked to do what had to be done just to survive. Did they think as presidents moved into the White House and brought their slaves with them, would ever be a day like this? A man who shared the same skin color, yet not owned by another man, to lead a free country of every man. Did they?

Listen close. Hear their voices? The winds of time have not silenced them. The voices of our past. Those voices whisper hope, faith--they nod, because they believed this day would come.

History.

I am a woman who has been called Brown, Colored, Nigger, Black, Bronze, African-American and then by my name. Just call me an American.

History. Today. How can one not look at today and not believe they CAN be anything they set their mind too? I may not dance on my toes, yet I will dance.

God Bless the United States of American and President Barack Obama.

Dancing With The Stars....the Finals!

My friends think I'm nuts because I'm so addicted to this show...! Christian is handsome and has grown on me. Outside of the fear those skimpy outfits the women wear will snap in two. Or mybe I'm just a wanna-be-dancer who will always wonder what if....

At four years old, my mom took me to my first dance recital. I really didn't 'get' what we was going to see. I just know Mom and I walked hand-in-hand to the junior high school where the recital was being held. I remember being surprised how many folks were there. I figured if so many others were there, it must be a good thing.

The recital itself--the only thing I remember was a girl dressed in blue, with blue slippers on her feet. The slippers made her stand on her tippy toes. My mouth dropped. I knew that's what I wanted to do. I babbled on about that one dance all the way home. That fall, I began dance lessons. Again, I didn't 'get' what was happening. I didn't realize I had to work at getting to a point of being on pointe. Being four years old will do that to you.

By the time I was old enough to be on pointe (as some others girls I knew where) Mom burst my bubble, "Black girls can't be ballerinas." Something about being not the right build. It didn't matter--I was crushed. Years later, in fact about three years ago, I watched a PBS documentary about blacks in the arts. There sat a black ballerina-who danced around the entire globe in the 60's and 70's-said she was told she could never be a ballerina because colored girls weren't built the right way. She proved them wrong. I wish I had tried to prove them wrong too.

Dance didn't hold much weight after my mom's crushing blow. My dance teacher put me in a hula skirt because I looked 'authenic'. I was good at the hula, yet for me- dance, TRUE dance was ballet. My dance lessons lasted but a couple more years. My heart wasn't in it. And the weekly 50 mile, round trip to the lessons, felt more like 500. Mom gave me the option of staying or quitting. I really think she tested me. Let me make a decision about my future.

Big mistake. I quit. It's the one thing I do regret. Heck, I wasn't quite 12. I should have kept going. I would have learned sooner--that True dance is what YOU bring to the dance. Not what style it is.

I've taken some adult lessons here and there. In fact, I receive in "A" in jazz dance class. I was the oldest in the class and the teacher said, I had 'presence.' Last fall I tried belly dancing-quite enjoyable, plus quite a workout. I plan to take ballroom lessons this summer. It does help that still 4 year old wanna be ballerina inside me.

So tonight, I will be Dancing With the Stars--in my eyes and still in my dreams--with a little ice cream to help it all down.