Yes. It’s true. At one point in time I was actually a certified BBoy.
Yes. It’s true. I was that wierd kid that busted out the ghetto speakers and started dancing on the side walk.
Yes. It’s true. My brother was a way better dancer than me. He was super-fly.
Yes. It’s true. I did have extra cardboard in my room and a slice of linoleum hanging around.
Yes. It’s true. My wife ended up seeing through all that whackness and marrying me anyway.
Yes. It’s true. I was, at one time, in pretty good shape.
Yes. It’s true. I still own those jeans.
And yes. It’s true. I still love to dance.
More pics of a previous life after the jump:
I wasn’t too bright back then… One of the things that we did back then was dance every where, including on obviously-busy highways in Hawaii. We liked living on the edge I guess. God was kind; he didn’t let me die that day.
This is back when I was attending Georgia Tech for my Undergrad. I remember being late for many classes due to an incessant need to dance all the time. I remember walking into many classes drenched in sweat and completely out of breath. God was good; I graduated somehow.
Some of the best times of my life with my brother were hanging out in our parent’s garage at 3 in the morning practicing during the summer breaks. We’d back up my dad’s beamer and rock some beats as we broke our bodies in the name of dance. God was so real during those times; I can’t explain why.
One of the most fascinating things about dancing is that it’s so much more fun with more people, even if they aren’t dancing themselves. There’s something about the crowd; I felt that they participated just as much in their showing up. God’s been merciful, helping me to see what parts of me were prideful in these times of performance and the parts that enjoyed the community and service to others for entertainment and pleasure.
On a final note, one of the coolest things is that my daughter is learning to dance. I have never explicitly shown her how, but for some reason she can already break it down.
I love being a dad.