#32 in a Series...Hear the Beat...of Dancing Feet!

When I was a sophomore in high school I started going out with a guy in my English class.  The first time I had dinner at his house, his mom asked, “Terri, I hear you’re a dancer—where do you study?”  I replied, “At Ruby Miller’s,” and his dad exclaimed, “Good Lord, is that woman still alive?”

Ruby Miller was an institution.  She taught ballroom, tap, ballet and jazz to three generations of kids in my hometown.  Apparently, my boyfriend’s dad still bore the emotional scars from his days in cotillion class.

I took lessons from Ruby for nine years, and in all that time, I think she complimented me once.  When I was out of earshot.  One of my friends told me she said,  “Look how well Terri dances when she stops worrying.”

Yeah.  From her, that was a compliment.

           I loved tap dancing so much it didn’t matter if she complimented me.  I loved it even though it wasn’t a popular dance form in the 1970s, when I was a kid.  I loved it even though we danced to hokey old songs.  I loved it even though our piano player sometimes drank too much coffee and played like he was in a hurry to get somewhere.

For a time I thought about being a professional dancer.  I was on the drill team, and was always cast in dance roles in shows at school, but when I auditioned for a summer job at a theme park, I came away from that experience thinking I might want to explore other career options. 

I wasn’t good enough. 

Maybe I gave up too easily.  Or maybe I was being practical.  I decided to study telecommunication and journalism in college, and turned my attention to writing for my high school and local community newspapers and anchoring the news for the school’s weekly instructional television program.

I didn’t always make it to dance class when I was in my last couple years of high school, but I attended when I could.  I was the only graduating senior in my tap class, and on my very last day there, Ruby began teaching a new routine, which she said the class would continue in the fall. 

So I learned the first part of the opening number from the musical 42^nd Street.  Then I quit tap dancing for eight years.

I graduated college, got married, and moved out of state.  Mike started graduate school.  On a visit home from Florida, I ran into an old friend from tap class.  Jenny said Ruby Miller had finally retired, and the studio was closed.  Jenny also told me Ruby told Jenny’s mother that she had wanted me to take over the studio when she was ready to step down, but then I had moved away.   Why didn’t Ruby ever say that to me? I wondered.  I never knew she thought I was any good!  Would I have made different choices if I knew that she wanted me to continue her life’s work?

The next year Mike wrapped up work on his dissertation and accepted a teaching position at a university in our home state.  I decided to celebrate and treat myself.  To dance classes. 

Even though it was April, I called a studio and asked if I could enroll in a couple classes—just to get back into it.  They said yes, and I enrolled in advanced jazz and advanced tap.   I called home and asked my mom to mail me my shoes.

I showed up to that first night of tap class, and was delighted to discover they were learning the same routine from 42^nd Street I’d started eight years before.  Exactly.  The same. 

I learned the whole routine in one class.  Jazz was more challenging, but I learned a lot, and after about a month, the jazz teacher said, “Terri—you’re not sticking out like a sore thumb any more.  You wanna be in the show?” 

Well, sure!  How could I resist a compliment like that? 

That fall I found a job at a local dance studio.  I loved working with the kids, producing shows, choosing costumes.  Two years later I opened my own studio.  I ran the business and taught all the classes.  I was proud of my students and I was proud of myself. 

Two years after that, Mike found another job and we moved to a larger city.  I closed my studio, and over the next couple years I taught in several dance programs through the city parks and recreation department. 

Then I got my dream job at a prestigious studio.  And I was terrified.

I had taught dance classes for six years, but I hadn’t escaped my self-doubt.  Was I good enough to teach at a studio where most of the other faculty members had been professional dancers? 

There was only one thing to do:  get good enough.   I attended tap workshops and festivals all over the country.  I practiced.  I learned how to be an effective teacher.  I became so confident in the classroom.  My students learned rapidly and I like to think most of them loved tap class as much as I had as a child.

I attended tap workshops every summer, and continued to grow as a teacher and as a dancer.  I needed to keep learning so I could stay ahead of my most advanced students! 

A couple of years ago, I was at a workshop with a friend.  I loved the style of the piece we were learning, and was really enjoying myself.  During a break in the class, she overheard one of the instructors say,  “Terri has a more complete grasp on this material than anyone here.  It’s too bad she didn’t have better early training…she could have been a professional dancer.”

It really doesn't matter now.  But it sure was nice to hear.