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The Bitter Beginning

My Dad drove me to Jardel, the Rec Center a few blocks from our house. I was hesitant; unsure of how I felt about this.
“Dad, I’m not sure I actually want to do this.”
“Look, your mother told me to sign you up – so that’s what I’m doing. Talk to her about it later.”
“Fine.”
That was the day I started taking Irish dance classes. Let me tell ya how thrilled I was about jumping, hopping, and kicking around the room while maintaining poise and grace. I was a soccer player. When you’re used to slide-tackling and doing so without the Ref catching you, you’re not exactly blessed with being graceful.
It wasn’t easy being ten years old and 5 feet tall – the tallest kid in 5th grade. It was pretty convenient to have long legs for soccer, but dancing? It was certainly interesting.


Alright, I Give

The first few lessons were awkward. I was trying to make sure my hands stayed stationery at my sides, my shoulders back, and my long legs looking like a real dancer’s.
But I started having fun once I learned some of the steps. Reels and jigs were my personal favorites, while the slip jig gave me trouble. I couldn’t always find the count – but once I found it, I felt graceful. Whoa!
I was praised by my teacher, Eileen. After a few weeks I was ready for a feis. Sounds painful, doesn’t it?


Now It Gets Tricky

The blessed feis. I was nervous. Would I survive the first one? Ha! If only I had known how easy it would be before I went. For those of you out of the loop, a feis is an Irish dance competition. About 300 dancers, give or take, get together, dress up in the most ridiculously expensive and uncomfortable dresses, curl their hair [or cheat like I did in my later years of dancing by wearing a curly wig], and dance in front of judges. Now, the tricky part, after all the humiliation of having to look like a poodle wearing a Celtic outfit, is to remember your steps, stay in time to the music [despite several other musicians playing for other performing dancers], and make it all look graceful & worthy of winning first place. Doesn’t sound too complicated, right?


Talent Shows

Now comes the really fun part. My freshman year of high school, after skyrocketing a full twelve inches since I started dancing [that’s a foot in 4 years!], my $500 costume barely fit anymore and I found girls at school that were in my dance classes. Flyers were going up around December about a talent show hosted and performed by the students for the entire school body. I found my dance friends, convinced them St. Hubert’s needed Irish dancers, and went home to tell Mom.
“MOM! GUESS WHAT?! GUESS WHAT?!?!?!”
“Whoa! Easy there. Breathe a little, then tell me.”
“MOM! You will NEVER guess what I’m going to do at school!”
“Am I going to approve?”
“Moooooooom! It’s not bad! You’re gonna be so proud!”
“Well then tell me!”
“Ok! I got the girls from dance to sign up for the talent show at school! We’re gonna dance in the show! How awesome is that?!?”
“Congrats! My girl: the star of the show!”
“Ok, way to kill it, Mom. A simple “That’s great, hunnie” would have sufficed.”