What Paula Abdul and I have in common

I was in the high school the other day, talking to the teachers and doing nothing as usual, when a girl from third course (9th grade) came in and asked my help in a homework assignment for music class. Apparently they were to break up in groups and demonstrate a form of dance. Their group chose reggaetón, but waited until the VERY last minute to practice the dance. So they asked me to teach them a dance. They wanted me as their choreographer. Yikes.

It is true, I’m known around town as the dancing machine, though in the States I think my dancing skills would be considered marginal or so-so. Here in San José though, my moves are different! Exotic! INCREDIBLE! So of course I could choreograph a little dance for them. Except I forgot that teaching Honduran high schoolers is like teaching a class full of kids on ADHD. One girl left halfway through and joined another group. Another girl came in an hour later. Nobody wanted to dance because they had pena. They drew straws to see who would dance, and the two that lost got all upset. Finally, they all decided they’d dance together. Great! Things were looking up.

Then we spent an hour learning 32 counts of walking in a straight line, to the tune of Daddy Yankee’s Impacto. It was simple, they understood, they did it a few times and it looked pretty awesome. Pretty SPECTACULAR, if you ask me! When suddenly they changed their minds and wanted another song. “This song you’re using is too fast,” they said. I protested, “You picked this song! And we’ve been learning the dance for this song for an hour.” They replied, “We want another one!” Just like that, my amazing choreography moves were shot down. They would’ve looked so awesome walking in a line. But no. It was too fast.

So I left. They dealt with it just fine; I don’t even think they noticed I’d left, they were so rapt in finding a newer, better, slower song. My first attempt at dance instruction and it was a failure. Unfortunate. But I wonder if it’s my last…