Slow, quick, quick. Slow, quick quick. I hear the counts again and again in my head as I
lead my partner across the dance floor. We stare into each other's eyes as our hips sway to the
stuttering beat. Foreign, this place is not. Like mother's arms, it soothes me, as the fingertips of
perspiration roll down my chest. A smile tickles it's way across my face as I realize there is
nothing in the world I'd rather be doing. I love to dance.
Ever since I was a child, I've greatly enjoyed music. I can recall with equal ease and
enthusiasm days where I, a six year old boy, would return from school to the livingroom
whereupon I would spend entire afternoons listening to music. I would sit in my father's chair,
King of My Universe, tapping along (and yes, singing) to the baseline of the song that
reverberated off the cold, hardwood floors.
Oldies, bluegrass, pop, rock, it didn't matter to me. I
didn't have a favorite, I liked it all! This love for music at such a young age helped shape my
passion for dancing.
Paying for all my own lessons, I began to study ballroom dancing at the age of 15. I
quickly realized that I had found my niche. I had a natural ability on the dance floor. Leading
was second nature for me, the beat of the music became a part of me, and as I learned more about
each dance, I too learned more about myself.
As any ballroom dancer will tell you, every dance has a personality, style and character all
it's own. As I found this out, I began to develop favorites. I started to, and still do, go out every
weekend and dance. And depending on what kind of day...