You have to be really confident to dance to YG’s ‘Fuck Donald Trump’ in Brooks running shoes.
Like Albert Brennaman from Hitch, I am confident on the dance floor. I have solid hip mobility; I am never afraid to swing it back and forth. One of my patented moves is very similar to the shoulder brush off, except I brush my chest. Strange, but certainly unique. When the music really starts pumping, the Childers Claw is unleashed and shit goes down. Just like that one night at Bowery Electric.
I love dancing, especially hip hop. When I was in the fourth grade, my dad and some fellow church members decided to perform a hip hop dance for the church. I just wanted to hang out with my dad and I liked dancing so I crashed his rehearsal. The group was performing a dance to a religious rap song. I still remember the lyrics. “Here in the garden of the Great I am, in the light we live of His divine plan. Made by the hand of the Holy One…”
Yeah.
I was the star performer. I danced my little fourth grade heart out. I impressed the ‘old folks’ with my dance skills as well as with my memory. I was the go-to dancer for remembering choreography. My dad and I would go over the dance at home together in the kitchen. “Yeah dad, but the left foot jump is on 7, then it goes and 8 and 1 and 2..then we do the arm up thing.”
Our choreographer was so cool. We went to his dance studio in Berkeley each week to learn the dance. His excitement was palpable in the “5, 6, 7, 8” every time he counted us off. He followed the count off with vocal inflections that punctuated each move. “Then ah, uh, then mmm and 2 and mmm mmmm, then ya ya ya. And 4 and 1” Anybody who’s taken a dance class knows what I am talking about.
He was filled with love and his energy would remain within you for the rest of the week. I hope he is doing okay during the pandemic. He encouraged me to attend his regular hip hop dance classes and dance to music that was about stuff I did not yet understand (see previous WAP article…). I felt embarrassed about doing “real dancing” so I decided not to go. I wish I had.
Side note: Can you actually imagine, Chris Childers, hip hop edition? If I had actually taken classes each week since the fourth grade??? Hhahahah god that would have been so fricking cool. Instead I decided to play golf….WTF.
Last August 2019, I got a second chance. I moved to New York, quit my job and suddenly had a lot of time on my hands. In the mother of coincidence, there was a hip hop dance studio on the ground floor of MY apartment complex.
I started taking classes. Not just one, but 4-7 a week. I felt so out of place during my first class. My roommates (plus the hundreds of NYC passersby moving around the east village) could watch me dance through the window. Moving my body felt unnatural after the years I spent in a desk. My style was also off. My size medium T-shirt hugged my biceps (is it possible to describe how my biceps looked without sounding douchey?). My plain white Banana Republic brand shoes did not attract compliments.
I was unemployed and slightly depressed, but being around hip hop dancers gave me energy. Hip hop dancers will walk into any situation and know they are the hottest in the room. I wanted some of that confidence for myself. I was scared every class. But I also loved it and that was enough. Learning to be comfortable doing something solely because I liked it as opposed to doing it because I was good at it (I was really not good at dancing in case that was unclear to anybody) was a really important lesson for me.
Ok, back to Bowery Electric.
Nicole and I were with a bunch of our friends. We went downstairs obviously. And we were going bananas. (Big step up from chamomile tea and a book.) I was sweating out gin and tonic, Nicole was doing the helicopter with her ponytail. (This was also the night my friend decided to kiss Nicole’s friend on the cheek when he said goodbye. Has a girl ever in the history of cheek kisses received a cheek kiss and been like, holy shit! That was so gentle and sexy, I’m going to go home with him now!!)
Anyway, I’m busting out my moves. The Childers claw. The hip twirl. The microphone. The shoulder brush off. The chest brush. The look back and butt wiggle.
There is no point to this story other than Nicole and I had a great time and I remember that night as one of those nights where I felt so grateful to be with Nicole. FUk this is getting sappy chris...pull yourself together. We were dancing, we were both having a blast. We did not care that we looked ridiculous. That night, we made our hero Albert Brennaman proud. Honestly, it was such a fun night I think I could have worn Brooks running shoes and we still would have had a blast. Or maybe not...
I have a prayer for everybody this week. I hope you always hit the dance floor at the party. Even if the music is white religious rap. (But I would highly recommend you snag the AUX and start bumping ‘Fuck Donald Trump’ because the song slaps.)