Dance

Dance: (v) to move one’s feet or body, or both, rhythmically in a pattern of steps, especially to the accompaniment of music.

There are just some things that demand more than sitting and watching.

I don’t like to sit and watch people eat. Matter of fact, I find it to be notorious.

I don’t like to sit and watch a sports event for too long. After a while, my imagination and my waistline grow together.

I never liked to sit and watch two people making love. I don’t get it. Making love may be the supreme example of the term, “user friendly.”

I don’t like to sit and watch church. If you really are in a mood to worship and you think there are matters that are praise-worthy, why would your choice be solemnity?

I don’t enjoy sitting and watching the sunrise. It was never meant to be a visual show, but rather, an invitation to get off one’s ass and start the day.

And I don’t like to sit and watch music. I used to hate to go with friends who wanted to watch someone play a piano or guitar or sit and listen to a singer.

Music was created to be moving

  • Move the heart with emotion.
  • Move the soul with inspiration.
  • Move the mind with ideas.
  • And move the body with beat.

Thus the dance.

The Bible is full of examples where people became overcome with emotion, music, spirit and thanksgiving—and started to dance.

And that is Middle Eastern style of dance, which is a lot of whirling and twirling. Yes, Temple, at one time, was an aerobic workout.

Dancing is when we confirm to those around us that we can still be moved by a melody, a beat and the possibility of excitement generated through a song.

 

Break-dancing

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Break-dancing: (n) an energetic and acrobatic style of street dancing, developed by American blacks

When my son was nine years old, he was controlled and swallowed by an obsession with Michael Jackson.Dictionary B

It included the need to wear a single glove, and to have both the black leather and red leather coats that Mr. Jackson wore during his videos for the “Thriller” album.

It also came with a sudden desire to dance. Not only was my son completely possessed by the spirit of the “moonwalk,” but he also became infatuated with break-dancing.

Now, this particular form of entertainment did not get its name because things are broken–even though, when you watch it performed, you might assume that was the reason. No, it got its name because in the midst of a routine, the dancer will occasionaly go into free-style improvisation, called “breaking out.”

So not only was my white boy mysteriously overtaken by the spirit of a black pop icon, but he also believed himself to be a street performer who lived near the projects.

One day, in Dallas, Texas, he found out there was a contest being held at a local club, to discover who the best break dancer was in a 25-mile radius (or whoever could afford the five dollar entry fee).

My son cajoled, begged and made promises to do chores–pleading with me to take him to participate in the contest.

I relented.

So he donned his single glove, white pants and vest he had purchased, and a head band, and we headed off for him to compete with his peers.

This probably will not surprise you, but my “Caucasian cutie” had absolutely no chance among those who were more geographically originated to the entertainment source.

He tried.

He spun on his head, fell over two or three times, slipped, slid and danced his way–in a charming sort of manner–producing great glee amongst the audience, which was a bit discriminating in its appreciation level.

Here’s the beautiful thing: he thought he did great.

I did not have to comfort him.

He did not care that he didn’t win.

He was so thrilled that he competed, that to this day, I have never heard him say a negative thing about the experience.

It is so wonderful when people suck … and they’re so oblivious that you don’t have to tell them.

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