The Dancing King
September 30, 2020
I always thought I was a good dancer. But now I realize that the person who worked the magic was actually Tatay.
I grew up with dancing parents. As postgrad students in Australia, they were the only parents that I knew of who brought their kids to discos! I distinctly remember - me definitely under 10 years old - going to a disco. The floor lit up in different colors andBenil and I were jumping around on the lit squares. I remember mirror balls, and Tatay ... *gasp* ... hoisting Mima up on his shoulders and spinning around like crazy. I remember a mirrorball-lit living room with their student friends dancing along to disco songs - fast, slow, you name it. I remember an academic party where Tatay and Mima dancing ballroom across the floor ... and people’s astonished faces when they starting pulling flourishes and showoffy moves.
At parties, reunions, and smaller family gatherings, it wasn’t an uncommon sight to see Tatay as the ultimate DI (dancing instructor). Everyone would get a turn, from nieces to aunts to lolas.
When it was finally your turn, you’d feel shy and awkward. But Tatay would just smile at you and you wouldn’t refuse. Once on the dance floor, he would encourage you, and move you where you should be without realizing it, with a little kembot to boot. Before you knew it, you were enjoying yourself and had a huge grin on your face. Especially when he told you when to pull up a leg or arm as a finishing move, or dip you in the most dramatic way. Dancing with him was always so much fun!
Tatay was my first - and dare I say - my favorite dance partner. Despite Tatay’s best efforts to teach my partner in life how to dance, we bombed at the wedding dance and we’re not so much better today.
I always thought I was a good dancer. But more importantly, Tatay made me believe it. The quiet confidence he exuded, that small smile on his face, and the constant pressure of his hands as he twisted and twirled me around made me believe in myself.
Tay, I look forward to the day when we can dance together again. Maybe I’ll be a little better at it.
I grew up with dancing parents. As postgrad students in Australia, they were the only parents that I knew of who brought their kids to discos! I distinctly remember - me definitely under 10 years old - going to a disco. The floor lit up in different colors andBenil and I were jumping around on the lit squares. I remember mirror balls, and Tatay ... *gasp* ... hoisting Mima up on his shoulders and spinning around like crazy. I remember a mirrorball-lit living room with their student friends dancing along to disco songs - fast, slow, you name it. I remember an academic party where Tatay and Mima dancing ballroom across the floor ... and people’s astonished faces when they starting pulling flourishes and showoffy moves.
At parties, reunions, and smaller family gatherings, it wasn’t an uncommon sight to see Tatay as the ultimate DI (dancing instructor). Everyone would get a turn, from nieces to aunts to lolas.
When it was finally your turn, you’d feel shy and awkward. But Tatay would just smile at you and you wouldn’t refuse. Once on the dance floor, he would encourage you, and move you where you should be without realizing it, with a little kembot to boot. Before you knew it, you were enjoying yourself and had a huge grin on your face. Especially when he told you when to pull up a leg or arm as a finishing move, or dip you in the most dramatic way. Dancing with him was always so much fun!
Tatay was my first - and dare I say - my favorite dance partner. Despite Tatay’s best efforts to teach my partner in life how to dance, we bombed at the wedding dance and we’re not so much better today.
I always thought I was a good dancer. But more importantly, Tatay made me believe it. The quiet confidence he exuded, that small smile on his face, and the constant pressure of his hands as he twisted and twirled me around made me believe in myself.
Tay, I look forward to the day when we can dance together again. Maybe I’ll be a little better at it.