Personal Narrative: My First Dance Class

How much could a tiny tot possibly have to share with the world in one dance class? Let me tell you, in my first dance class I thought I had become the most beautiful thing in the world. In my head, I floated above the ground with every movement I made, like a water lily; I became the most spectacular princess in the land with every leap, and the most elegant fairy as I sat down with my legs crossed and my hands in my lap. However, in reality I was running around with a blue, almost see-through scarf in my hand like a baby elephant learning to walk, and in horrible princess manners, giving my classmates, that were not taking the class as seriously as I thought they should, dirty looks. Dance class was a place where if I closed my eyes tight enough, I could block out reality, become whatever I wanted and tell any story I wanted to.

I have grown to love dance even more than I did in my first class, and in my opinion I have gotten quite a bit better. I’m afraid that in other areas of art I can’t speak as highly of myself. My drawings have always been lackluster, my acting subpar, and my musical ability has

been nonexistent. I can recall having high points in each division of art, only to be reigned in like a horse that has wandered away from their owner. Though the years I have become aware of my personal disadvantages in the arts, these made me focus on dance. Rather than being mediocre at many things, I had chosen to become exemplary in one aspect.
In my elementary art class I remember having one class period to draw a still life.

I was sure that I had used my pencil to create the next Mona Lisa at the end of those seventy minutes. Yet, years later when my family cleaned out my art folder I couldn’t even tell what the items I was supposed to have drawn were. The picture looked as if it had been drawn on a boat in the middle of a storm having its curved lines in place of straight lines. It was as if the pencil had a mind of its own and what I intended for it to do just wasn’t on the agenda for that day. During my time in art class I continued this cycle. The cycle of not thinking that I could draw, to having an epiphany moment, to realizing that what I actually created was worthless. When I began to climb the mountain of hardships involved with music and acting I had to push my failure in art class to the

side.
I had no choice in my participation in choir, and even from a young age I knew that couldn’t sing well. I remember the day that I was cast in the required 5th grade musical, knowing that there were parts that did not require singing I thought I would get a reasonably good role. At the time I had no idea that I am a crummy actor as well. So, I scored the part of prayer reader, the person that comes out at the beginning of the show and says an ever so holy speech towards the parents before the house lights go out. Even though I didn’t know it at the time that performance was the end of my acting career.
Denying to myself that I only had one artsy talent I moved my focus to music, more specifically the recorder. Two years of my mandatory music class were dedicated to practicing the banshee of the woodwind instruments. If you ask the teacher why we had to learn such an awful instrument her answer would be the same thing she told any of us when we asked, “It improves learning development in children.” I have never fact-checked this, at the time it seemed to be reasonable. Although I memorized every song and practiced as many nights as possible, I could not get that musical instrument to sound like anything better than a cow going into labor. To be fair, I don’t think I have ever heard a pleasant sound come out of a recorder, no matter the person playing it.
My failures in music, theater, and art have made me excel in dance and for that I am grateful. I have been able to grow in dance because I can’t draw a perfect still life. I have been able to have opportunities in dance because I am an atrocious actor. Because of my rotten recorder recitals I have had many outstanding dance performances. As the days of my dance classes including careless combinations and meager manners have become fewer, my love of the stories used throughout dance has only increased.