A little boy arrived to dance in Saturday night's show. And his mom said, "I'm not quite sure why we're here. He's only taken lessons for a few weeks. But the teacher said we should come."
And I said, "Really, if he gets up and moves around a little AT ALL, people will love him."
So he went out for the first dance that the beginners do ... he was flanked by 2 more experienced dancers who were saying the steps to him as they all danced (one of the dancers was AnnaBeth).
(Give me somebody to dance with. Give me a place to fit in. Help me return to the world of the living by showing me how to begin.)
And, folks, he found his calling in life! (God I'm a dancer, a dancer dances!)
As soon as he came off stage he was ready to go back out. In spite of reassurances from the other dancers that he didn't actually know the dances they were performing. He kept lining up with them, ready to go out and dance again.
(Put me to work, you would think that by now I'm allowed. I'll do you proud!)
During Blackbird -- a traditional set taught at our school after a couple of years -- he was in the wings saying, "I know this one! I'm remembering it while I watch them!"
(Give me the chance to look forward to saying, "Hey, listen they're playing my song.")
Finally, the person in charge sent him back out with one of the big girls, K. And he got to dance a solo.
And he danced and he danced and he danced. Front-back-front front-back-front front-back-front, a look of sheer determination on his face ... he'd still be dancing if they'd let him. K eventually grabbed him and led him in a bow.
The audience LOVED HIM! Of course.
Play me the music. Give me the chance to come through. All I ever needed was the music, and the mirror, and the chance to dance for you.