I love Wednesdays because it is Hip Hop Funk day at the YMCA. I go just about every week and bounce around with the other dancers, trying to look cool and get my moves right, and failing much of the time. But I am learning and getting some of the moves right and I do love it, so that's most of what counts, right?
The dance instructor is male, fit, really good at dancing and really loud as he shouts instructions into the microphone he wears. You can tell that most of the dancers in the room (all the women at least) are in awe of him. He makes jokes and they smile. He dances a certain way, or makes goofy sounds or expressions and they laugh. The classroom is usually made up of women and guys that I, in my limited knowledge, decide must be gay.
Sometimes we learn new dances. Most times we just go over old dances we learned months ago. Some of the "dances" are more like aerobics with jumping jacks and punches and kicks thrown in. And as we leap and jump and try to breathe, the instructor counts like a drill sergeant, but instead of a scowl, there is the widest smile on his face. You can tell he loves teaching, loves Wednesdays as much as we do.
Sometimes a class member that he seems to know personally behind me or to the side of the room will get tired or just decide to stop dancing all together. The YMCA is a place where instructors end up getting to know people, so I can tell that he knows many people in the room. So, sometimes, when you can tell he knows someone and they start slacking off, he wipes the smile off his face and glares sternly at them, while the class titters and giggles in between their huffs and puffs and jumping jacks.
There's one dance we do just about every week, in which the instructor plays a drill sergeant pretty much the whole time. Towards the middle of the song, he tells us to "March!" which is a kind level down from the intensity that he had us at. Everyone sighs, catches their breathe and begins marching in place. But we all know what is coming, because after he says "March!" and we start marching, he always asks, "What do you say?? What do you say?" Then the whole class choruses, "Thank you, S----!" They don't really say "S", they say his name, which starts with an "S---", but I'm using that initial to protect the innocent. Anyway, since his name started with an "S----" and almost sounded similar to "Sir" , my first time experiencing this in the dance class, I was certain everyone was saying "Thank you, SIR!!!!" I blushed and tried not to say it and then (so thankful now that no one heard me, would chorus "Thank you, Sir" with the best of them.
I finally learned his name and that no one was saying "Thank you, Sir." Oh, what a let down.
Anyway, today in class, we did the usual dance where he said, "March!" And we said, "Thank you S---" and then he would say, "I didn't hear that. It wasn't loud enough. We are going to start from the top." Usually everyone groans and whimpers and moans and keeps going and then we dance and then he says "March!" We say, "Thank you, S----!" And once again he will say, "What do you say??" And so the cycle repeats, with him basically torturing us drill sergeant style. I used to think it was fun.
Then today I thought of something more fun. I wouldn't say it. I wouldn't thank him. What if he saw me?? I was all excited about the possibility of him seeing me, because well, who knows what would happen then? Well, sadly, in a room full of at least 40 people, he didn't notice my silence. Sad day...
But even though he didn't notice my rebellion, I felt awful for it only minutes afterwards. I imagined what it would have been like if the class had followed my lead, if we all had closed our mouths, and if his "What do you say?" had been met by an insolent silence. What if that was a wrap? What if that was the end of his fun what-do-you-say dance? It's not like he could force us to say it. The fact that we said it back to him made the game and the dance fun.
And then I realized part of the reason why I've always had trouble rebelling. I was not a rebellious child/teenager as a rule, but there have been one or two or three occasions in my life when I went all out and rebelled good and hard. Each time, I felt horrible for doing so, without anyone punishing me or making me feel horrible. And I realized today at least part of why rebellion made me feel bad. Because it worked. It worked for me. I was not punished for it. And if everyone had done it, then the dance would have been ruined. Because rebellion is powerful. Sometime it even does take power away from those you are rebelling against. I actually had power, and rebelling would bring that power to my attention.
And power scares the crap out of me. I want someone to follow or at least, to be able to count on, to be able to listen to when I don't know what to do or think. But I don't like this about myself, and I'd love to change it. What if I could trust myself to know what's best, at least most of the time? What if I could trust myself to rebel at the right times, against the right things, and say, I know that this is right and I will stand up for it no matter who is disappointed in me?
The dance instructor is male, fit, really good at dancing and really loud as he shouts instructions into the microphone he wears. You can tell that most of the dancers in the room (all the women at least) are in awe of him. He makes jokes and they smile. He dances a certain way, or makes goofy sounds or expressions and they laugh. The classroom is usually made up of women and guys that I, in my limited knowledge, decide must be gay.
Sometimes we learn new dances. Most times we just go over old dances we learned months ago. Some of the "dances" are more like aerobics with jumping jacks and punches and kicks thrown in. And as we leap and jump and try to breathe, the instructor counts like a drill sergeant, but instead of a scowl, there is the widest smile on his face. You can tell he loves teaching, loves Wednesdays as much as we do.
Sometimes a class member that he seems to know personally behind me or to the side of the room will get tired or just decide to stop dancing all together. The YMCA is a place where instructors end up getting to know people, so I can tell that he knows many people in the room. So, sometimes, when you can tell he knows someone and they start slacking off, he wipes the smile off his face and glares sternly at them, while the class titters and giggles in between their huffs and puffs and jumping jacks.
There's one dance we do just about every week, in which the instructor plays a drill sergeant pretty much the whole time. Towards the middle of the song, he tells us to "March!" which is a kind level down from the intensity that he had us at. Everyone sighs, catches their breathe and begins marching in place. But we all know what is coming, because after he says "March!" and we start marching, he always asks, "What do you say?? What do you say?" Then the whole class choruses, "Thank you, S----!" They don't really say "S", they say his name, which starts with an "S---", but I'm using that initial to protect the innocent. Anyway, since his name started with an "S----" and almost sounded similar to "Sir" , my first time experiencing this in the dance class, I was certain everyone was saying "Thank you, SIR!!!!" I blushed and tried not to say it and then (so thankful now that no one heard me, would chorus "Thank you, Sir" with the best of them.
I finally learned his name and that no one was saying "Thank you, Sir." Oh, what a let down.
Anyway, today in class, we did the usual dance where he said, "March!" And we said, "Thank you S---" and then he would say, "I didn't hear that. It wasn't loud enough. We are going to start from the top." Usually everyone groans and whimpers and moans and keeps going and then we dance and then he says "March!" We say, "Thank you, S----!" And once again he will say, "What do you say??" And so the cycle repeats, with him basically torturing us drill sergeant style. I used to think it was fun.
Then today I thought of something more fun. I wouldn't say it. I wouldn't thank him. What if he saw me?? I was all excited about the possibility of him seeing me, because well, who knows what would happen then? Well, sadly, in a room full of at least 40 people, he didn't notice my silence. Sad day...
But even though he didn't notice my rebellion, I felt awful for it only minutes afterwards. I imagined what it would have been like if the class had followed my lead, if we all had closed our mouths, and if his "What do you say?" had been met by an insolent silence. What if that was a wrap? What if that was the end of his fun what-do-you-say dance? It's not like he could force us to say it. The fact that we said it back to him made the game and the dance fun.
And then I realized part of the reason why I've always had trouble rebelling. I was not a rebellious child/teenager as a rule, but there have been one or two or three occasions in my life when I went all out and rebelled good and hard. Each time, I felt horrible for doing so, without anyone punishing me or making me feel horrible. And I realized today at least part of why rebellion made me feel bad. Because it worked. It worked for me. I was not punished for it. And if everyone had done it, then the dance would have been ruined. Because rebellion is powerful. Sometime it even does take power away from those you are rebelling against. I actually had power, and rebelling would bring that power to my attention.
And power scares the crap out of me. I want someone to follow or at least, to be able to count on, to be able to listen to when I don't know what to do or think. But I don't like this about myself, and I'd love to change it. What if I could trust myself to know what's best, at least most of the time? What if I could trust myself to rebel at the right times, against the right things, and say, I know that this is right and I will stand up for it no matter who is disappointed in me?
