Yes, I will confess I became a dancer because of Riverdance. I saw it on television and I remember being floored by the mix of strength and beauty the dancers had. Their stomping feet would mesmerize me and I'd sit there fascinated, slowing inching closer to the screen without even meaning to. If it ever came on, I wanted to watch because I would then try to mimic their steps. As I recall, I thought I did pretty well, but I probably looked pretty silly trying to hold my hands to my sides as I stomped and shuffled around. I imagine I was also very wobbly as I tried to manage my steps.
Unfortunately, my parents did not want to invest unless I was absolutely certain I wanted to dance. This is perfectly reasonable because after buying the two pairs of shoes, the socks, the lessons, the heavy expensive dress, the wig, the competition fees, the hotel rooms, and the gas to travel to the competitions, your wallet feels pretty exhausted. I didn't even mention any souvenirs or extra T-shirts and sweatshirts to advertise your school! Oh, silly me. Thus, it took a year of my trying to persuade them that I wanted to dance before they would let me, and one vacation had to occur first as well.
It was the summer of 1998 (I think, my memory is foggy, but stay with me). I was eight years old and ready to start third grade that fall. My family decided to go on a vacation down to the Isle of Palms, South Carolina because my aunt and uncle owned a beach house there. It was a nice house with about a ten minute walk to the beach, but not important for the story. The point is, we were there.
Anyway, one night my family stopped at an Irish pub-like restaurant for dinner. My mother can remember the name, but I was eight so it didn't matter to me. I remember dark wood and cramped spaces. There was a guitarist in the corner singing random songs such as "Cheeseburger in Paradise" and my mother immediately sang along. I think that was the first time I remember listening to Jimmy Buffet, but definitely not the last.
Later on, after we finished, my aunt and uncle's foster daughter at the time asked me to dance with her to the music. She was nine, I believe, so around my age and I liked her. It took a little bit of persuasion to get me away from my parents, but eventually I stood up and decided not to just dance. I wanted to Irish dance. My memory made me think that an Irish tune was playing, but I honestly cannot remember the music. I do remember people clapping along as I whipped my feet around, taking all the attention away from my friend. My arms tried to stay at my sides as I bumped and shuffled, feeling accomplished until I finally collapsed back into my seat. Applause filled the restaurant as my mom handed me my spring jacket and we headed for the door.
As I was just about to exit onto the street, I heard the guitarist say, "You know, if she had kept her arms a little tighter, I would have thought she was Riverdancing."
Before I knew it, I was in my classes learning about all the different steps and keeping my hands at my sides. Part of me has always wanted to go back to that restaurant (that's still there) and dance again, but I know no one would remember. Not to mention, it's been around five years since I had my last Irish dancing class, so I'm a little rusty. I'll still dance for you on St. Patrick's Day, though. All you have to do is ask.
Dance as if no one is watching
Sing as if no one is listening
And live every day as if it was your last.
An Irish Blessing
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