But this was unlike any school dance I ever attended.
By the time I got to the dance, the DJ had started. The gym itself was throbbing, pulsing with the energy of the music and the kids. I opened the gym doors, and the thump-thump-thump of the driving bass quite literally seemed to be blowing my hair back. I had no idea what song was playing, but the kids were all into it.
The DJ yelled, “Can I hear the 4th Graders in the house?!” Kids shrieked and screamed in response. “Can I hear the 5th Graders in the house?!” he beckoned, soliciting more feverish cheers.
See, he knew he was playing for kids in an elementary school. So why then, Mr. DJ, did your next song include “Mother F**er” at least four times? And that, according to another chaperone, was the ‘cleaned-up’ version. I looked around, and every kid in the gym was mouthing the words, M-F and all.
By the time he yelled for the 6th graders in the house, the students had been worked up into a frenzy, which was carried over into their dancing.
I noticed that they danced in a huddle though. Other than a few outliers here and there doing their own thing, the majority of the students were standing in a clustered mass, jumping up and down to the rhythm, while the students (usually girls) in the center of the crowd danced.
But this was unlike any dancing I ever did.
One girl would approach another girl, within inches of her, then she’d move and gyrate aggressively with her whole body—arms, legs, hips, face—then she’d back off, like a boxer to his corner. Meanwhile, the crowd of kids whooped and hollered. Now the second girl would become the aggressor. She’d walk up to the first girl, shake her head no, as if to say, ‘That’s not how you do it—watch me’—and then she’d dance her comeback dance. Afterwards, girl #2 would retreat back to her corner, amidst more raucous cheering, awaiting the next challenge.
And so it went. Some challenges went several rounds, each girl getting in the other’s face; some even ended with a shove to their opponent, gaining the momentum they needed to back away and leave an exclamation point in their wake. The dancing became more and more frenetic, propelled on by the boom-ba-doom-boom boom-ba-doom-boom bass (superbass).
Then the Curly Shuffle came on.
Hey, I recognize this one, I thought. I can do this. I’ll be the cool teacher who can dance. That was the intention anyway. I did ok; I kept up. The Curly Shuffle was at my threshold of dance capacity. It’s just too bad I didn’t stop there.
Still trying to be the cool teacher, some of the girls in my class tried to Teach Me How To Dougie. That didn’t go quite as well as I’d hoped. I tried, thought I was doing ok, but then I asked for feedback. “How am I doing?” I asked, only to have the girls break into peals of laughter.
“You look like you’re hitting people!” they responded.
It was one of those “What I think I look like” vs. “What I actually look like” moments. In my mind, I was doing just fine. In reality, however, I was woefully underperforming. Those kids put my gracelss moves to shame.
Wobble? C’mon—I can do the regular Hustle, therefore I can do the Big Girl Hustle, right? Nope…should’ve stopped that train wreck sooner that I did.
Wutang? Nope…couldn’t get myself back off the floor without the help of some of the kids.
Stanky Leg? Nope…should’ve left that one alone too.
Turbo? Nope…never should’ve attempted this disaster in the making. I’m just grateful I didn’t kick anybody other than myself.
In a sea of sheer, raw talent, I was quickly sinking into lameness with my inability to dance with any refinement or rhythm whatsoever.
This Moment 4 Life was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. But it was very telling in that now I have to admit I’m old and more out of touch than I ever realized. Go ahead; LYFAO at my expense.
Sigh…I still have to finish out the school year with these kids.
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