I pretended not to hear my son's words as I forged a path in the world of TikTok dancing recently for this year's Mr. AHS competition. Yet, every time I worked on my dance moves, I could hear his little voice in my head. If anything, I was going to be an embarrassment to my ten year-old,who rolled his eyes every time I practiced in my kitchen. His words made me recognize my fear of showcasing my lack of dance moves in a crowd of close to 700 people.
I'd like to say I do something every day that scares me, but that's not quite the truth. I'm going to be honest and tell you that I don't often live by this mantra; I'm not usually that adventurous or brave. Courage often falls flat on its face as I tend to choose the path of least resistance. I wallow in comfort instead of risk. It's often hard for me to step outside of my comfort zone, as I fear people will laugh at me or criticize me. I'll admit it: I know I shouldn't, but I fear what other people think sometimes.
As an introvert, I tend to observe instead of exist in the middle of the circle. I loathe the spotlight and don't even like recognition if it happens to come my way. So when it was suggested that the sponsors of the Junior Class dance in the Mr. AHS competition, I was adamant this was a bad idea. How would someone who dreads being the center of attention dance in front of 700 people? I learned the dance in about four days, watching two of my students on repeat in a video on my phone. My screen time went up 30% this week. I blame the fifteen-second TikTok dance I must have watched at least 100 times. I even took time in class to give a preview of my best move--the shoot. Students laughed, one attempted to fix my botched attempt with no success. Other students told me to loosen up. Some said I was a good dancer (I'm not sure what they consider good dancing). But the common thread through all of it was laughter. I realized as I was doing this that I was bringing joy to my students. They were comfortable enough to laugh with me or tell me I was doing it all wrong. It's okay that they were laughing at me; it's okay they thought I was a bad dancer. The level of happiness in that classroom was all that mattered.
I did dance on Saturday night to a crowd of 700 people. I did it for the students. I've been sent many videos of the performance and several photos.
I've come to the conclusion that my son was right: Adults should not be learning TikTok dances.
It was not pretty and far from perfect. Every time I watch the video, I feel like I don't recognize the old lady whose nae nae looks like she's waving goodbye and whose shoot looks like she's punching the lights out of someone or something. But I'm there right in the middle of the stage dancing--my way. It was one of the bravest things I've done as a teacher. Minutes before that dance I froze in my shoes. And while I will not seek opportunities in the spotlight any time soon, what this taught me was the meaning of having courage, of facing my fears, of stepping out of my comfort zone every now and then, of being brave.
Brave is experiencing that fear and deciding something or someone else is more important.
Brave is doing something you're scared to do with a smile on your face.
Brave is admitting when you did something wrong.
Brave is sticking up for that one person in the class who may need a little extra encouragement.
Brave is sometimes going against the grain because you know what you believe in is right.
Brave is hard. It's complicated. But it's also beautiful and forever makes you a better person.
My dancing may be a simple example; I'm no soldier fighting a war; I'm not putting out any fires; my bravery consists in other forms--helping the student with emotional battles, raising three kids in a world where technology is like quicksand--continuously holding their minds captive. Brave is teaching teenagers every day. Yes, you are pretty unpredictable and funny and sometimes hard to reach. You've taught me how to think quickly on my feet, approach life with humor, and even how to have patience when you don't turn in your work on time or somehow manage to show up to class without a pencil. Yet you also are the ones who have shown me the most about what it means to be brave:
Take for example, Kendall Jaskinski. This past month Kendall told her story about mental health to CBS 6 while two of my students, Ruthie Weeks and Will Gordon, stood in front of the camera reporting on the story for everyone to see. That's bravery at its best.
Brave are the eighteen boys I've recently supervised in Mr. AHS sing and dance and perform on stage, making it look easy.
Brave is the student who stopped me to ask how I was doing because she knew I was struggling today.
Brave were my dual enrollment students who recently spoke about problems in our world and their solutions. With topics from bullying to Snapchat to mental health, they told their stories with honesty and integrity and poise.
Brave were my eleventh grade English students who recently tackled the problem of racism by making public service announcements on the topic and sharing them with students at the communications specialty center at Varina High School.
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| Screenshots from some of my students' PSAs |
Brave are my senior TOK students who entered the month of January ready for their final assessments in theory of knowledge, knowing they are hard but not letting that be what that holds them back.
You see, I've learned more about bravery, about courage, about strength from the seventeen and eighteen year-olds with whom I spend most of my day. I wouldn't have been able to get on that stage this past weekend in front of 700 people without my students holding me up. So thanks to the boys who gave me high fives right before the music played. Thanks to the dance choreographers who were forever encouraging and who I think modified some of the moves when they realized I just wasn't going to get the real ones. Thanks to the student who corrected what I thought was my "best" move. You kept me grounded, reminding me that adults probably shouldn't do TikTok dances.
Even my son Jack acquired a newfound faith in me before I made my dancing debut. He wrapped his arms around me before I left and said, "You'll be great, mom! You can do it!" That is a rare moment from my ten year old, so I'll take it.
This month I encourage you to do something that puts you a little out of your comfort zone. Do something that scares you. Take chances. Not everything you do will be easy but everything is possible.
As I've most recently learned, adults should not be doing TikTok dances, but I'm grateful this adult knows she can.
