I Might Be Famous Now. I Give Autographs Within Reason.

I'm not sure if you know this, but I am a Salsa Dance instructor. I don’t really talk about it much on here and I'm not sure why. Sometimes it could make for good stories to be told. Speaking of stories--last week a new student came to my beginner class. He is a column writer for The Source. I think it’s a Detroit area based newspaper, and each county or city has their own edition. (I think, don’t quote me on that). He came into class as part of his "Opinions" column. His assignment is to try a new activity each month and write about it. This time, it was to try Salsa Dancing. He seemed very nervous, but he got through the class with flying colors. He stopped by the studio yesterday on his way to an event, and dropped off a couple of papers so we could read what he wrote about my class. I'd like to share with you his column on my class and his experience trying to dance.

The following text was taken from The Source Newspaper, Sterling Heights Edition dated August 3, 2008. Column written by Chris Williams, Source Staff Writer


So You Think I Can't Dance?
Before we jump into this month's column of new experiences, let's take an inventory, shall we?

There are three particular things that I lack:
1. Rhythm.
2. Coordination
3. Skill with the opposite sex.

So, I guess it was only natural that for my new experience this month I decided to take dancing lessons. Not just any dancing lessons, mind you, but lessons in salsa, a partner dance that requires all of those things I lack.

I will issue a slight caveat-I had actually taken salsa dancing lessons before, three or four years back. The lessons, however, were at a church singles' activity, fairly unorganized and I gave up after 15 minutes to pay more attention to the more familiar type of salsa-the type that you only need to partner with chips. So I figured taking an hour-long, official dance class qualifies as a new thing.

I should also make it clear that I am not, by nature, a dancer. When I took a date to my high school homecoming dance during my senior year, I hemmed and hawed my way out of having to hit the dance floor. I have never once hit a nightclub, aside from taking work-related pictures for this job. The only dancing I have done-other than a celebratory jig when I once bowled a strike-has been at weddings, where I can cling to my partner and not have to worry that I look like a "full-body dry heave set to music," as "Seinfeld's" George Costanza would say.

So it was with a bit of trepidation that I walked into Argentine Tango Detroit in Utica to take their beginner's salsa class one Wednesday night. Salsa instructor Stacey DeLiso led me back to the room with the three other students in that night's class and started to teach us the basic moves.

The basic moves DeLiso started to show us seemed easy enough. Forward, in place, back, in place, to the side, look over the shoulder, etc. It didn't seem much different than the "Tae-Bo" routine I attempted in college (yes, I will never live down the fact that for the better part of a year I spent an hour pretending to kick-box with Billy Blanks on my TV, sending the dog into panic attacks). When she led us through the basic steps on our own, I felt a flush of pride; I was keeping to a bit of rhythm and actually remembering the steps.

Perhaps I was actually going to be able to be a salsa master.

"Okay, now we're going to do this with partners," DeLiso announced.

It suddenly occurred to me that what I had been doing wasn't dancing at all-no matter how cute my little behind-shake might have been. I was simply learning the basic steps that would be incorporated in the dance, the outline of the dance, as a writer might say. The dance was not going to be complete until I was partnered with someone and doing these moves to music. What's more, as the man, I learned I would have to lead.

Those basic steps? They don't seem as basic when you're holding hands, trying to lead someone through the dance to some fast-paced music. It's one thing to go through the motions and practice steps; it's another to make it look smooth, natural and romantic. If I didn't lead enough, my partner would not know to follow. If I was too obvious, I looked like a puppet master and my movements looked mechanical, not natural and fluid. Of course, there was also the little problem of remembering all this, listening to the music, moving in sync with the rhythm and remembering the steps.

And then we started the twirling.

I watch a lot of movies and I've seen my fair share of musicals. The dance steps and the twirling look so natural in there, so full of passion and grace, with the steps echoing the beating of the characters' hearts and the flourishes-like twirling-looking like passionate extensions of their own emotions.

I spent the better half of the hour trying not to spin my partner through the wall and worrying that I was going to break her arm. I had also noticed, perhaps 20 minutes too late, that this dancing thing required some real physical energy and I had broken out a sweat that, in a nightclub, would ensure I wouldn't ever have to dance with a partner again. DeLiso was great in giving me helpful hints and advice, but I still have to admit that I think I looked more like Chris Farley out there than Antonio Banderas.

But here's the thing-I was loving it. In fact, the more difficult it was, the more determined I felt to get it right. This wasn't an easy dance step you could learn at a wedding; it wasn't the "Cha-Cha Slide." And yet it wasn't anything that I felt I couldn't learn after some lessons. What's more, it was great exercise and it was definitely a social activity that was a more fun than my usual nights of going to movies and, well, renting movies.

More than that, though, I had a newfound respect for those who love dancing. It's not a brain-dead club activity. It's something that requires discipline, skill, intelligence and a desire to follow the music, even if you think you're making an idiot of yourself. As I walked back to my car, I could feel the muscles in my legs still wanting to move to the music and, while I know that I am nowhere near ready to hit a public dance floor, the best thing I can say is that I wanted to show up for another lesson, if only to prove to myself that this is something I can do.

Throughout the past few months, several of these new experiences have required me to go beyond my comfort zone, be it singing karaoke, attending a political rally, drinking some wine or even sitting in at a monster truck rally. But I don't think any have required me to overcome my fear of looking silly and pushed me physically like salsa dancing. And all I can say to that is that I'm ready to get out and shake my hips again-even though it will most-likely be out of rhythm.