A trip back in time, Part 2: Dancing Memories

For Part 1, click here.

When I was little and my dad would take my brother and me for rides in the car on weekends, he would usually put on music as he drove.  And in my head, there would be ballerinas twirling and flying around to that music.  Chris De Burgh's "Lady In Red" was my favorite song to do this to, and my dad's compilation tape with that song was a knot of ribbon before too long.  But the Kingston Trio, Harry Chapin, and Peter, Paul, & Mary all had great ballets in my head too.  When I was eight or nine, those ballets started to venture out from my head and make their way into the rest of my body; I started putting on music and dancing to it in our large living room, just improvising.  The first album I remember doing this to was a Joan Baez compilation CD.  Before long, I was dancing my way through full-length musicals, with a preference for The Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, Cats, and Miss Saigon.  I would pick which character I was going to be for every song and dance their point of view, sometimes going back to switch parts, but rarely if ever stopping to write anything down -- until I was ten, when I fully choreographed my first piece.  From my 8th grade writing portfolio, here is my 13-year-old self writing about my 10-year-old self's first experience seriously choreographing a dance (and performing it).

Dancing Memories

Though I have many great memories, one of my favorites involves my first experience with original choreography.  It’s a memory that still gives me pleasure, and one I sometimes think about when I’m feeling a little blue or if I’m having trouble sleeping.

Every year, the school I used to attend staged a “Fine Arts Olympics,” a special event intended to spotlight art, music, and dance.  Although some students entered an art picture, and some played an instrument, I decided, when I was in the fifth grade, to do original choreography.  The music I chose was "Memory,” a piece from the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical Cats.

Using everything I’d learned, I worked on appropriate ballet movement, practicing jumps, leaps, and turns for endless hours in our living room.  The music I had chosen is an extremely emotional piece, and I did my very best to make the dance movements convey the deep emotion of the music.  Finally, I thought I had everything as perfect as I could make it.

The day before the performance, I was finally ready for a “dress rehearsal,” and I asked my mom to watch.  I danced as well as I ever had, and when I was done my mom gave me a compliment I’ll never forget.  “I’ve seen a lot of ballet,” she told me, “but you just made me feel something I’ve honestly never felt before from dance.  You sent chills up my spine.”  Together with the hug she gave me, that was just about the best compliment I’d ever gotten.

The next day, I was happy with my performance at the “Fine Arts Olympics.”  What made the day really special, though, was a compliment I received after the performance.  In the school’s foyer, as we were preparing to leave, my Language Arts teacher came up to me, gave me a hug, and said in her soft Southern accent, “Jessica, that was incredible…. Watching you dance just sent chills up my spine.”  I looked at my mom, and we both smiled.

I treasure those twin-echo compliments as a memory of my first solo choreography.  No matter how or when or where I might ever dance, I think that the greatest compliment I could ever receive will be that I really emotionally touched my audience… and sent chills up their spines.