When did I first start dancing?
According to my mother, it all began in my highchair.
Apparently, whenever music would play on the radio (which would have been often, as my entire family loves music – but then, who doesn’t) I would, at the ripe old age of (2?), begin to bounce in my highchair in perfect rhythm to the music.
I do not recall the first performance I went to see as a child. I don’t know if I even went to a ballet production before my mother enrolled me. She may have decided to give ballet a try since her good friend’s daughter was dancing at a nearby studio in Lawrenceville, Georgia. What was that girl’s name? Rebecca. She dated my brother Jon for awhile. Super pretty. And seemed like trouble. Of course, I was probably just jealous. I loved both of my brothers and envied anyone who took their attention away from me, for the short time I knew them before they both left home. But that’s for a later story.
I started my life at something-something-something Garden Grove Drive, a cozy two-story house with a huge, winding driveway cloaked in big, beautiful pine trees. We never seemed to have any grass in the front yard, since these pines were so thick, the sunlight couldn’t reach the forest floor. I loved dancing around the house, especially when Van Halen was playing. My brother Chris would turn up “JUMP” as high as the speakers allowed. He’d grab my Sesame Street plastic umbrella and turn it into his personal electric guitar, serenading me to the pounding beats of what is, to this day, one of my favorite bands. (A few years later I’d catch a glimpse of David Lee Roth on MTV prowling around the stage in ass-less chaps, and man did that memory stick in my brain. So. Hot.)
I remember that, once we moved to 561 Battersea Drive, I began taking ballet lessons.
…to be continued