Growing up, even in a divorced household, we did have a few 'Cosby' moments. And one of those memories from my childhood was the dance contest. Who did battle? Me and my older sister Darion. These were held in our living room, a coin being flipped to determine who would move their money maker first. After the competition was complete, my parents would send us to our rooms (corners) and deliberate for about ten minutes before calling us back into the living room for the decision.
Now, let me break down this young brother, older sister situation. Growing up, Darion, 5 years my elder, could do anything! She played on a softball team that won the championship every year, she dressed like Scott Schuman was her personal photographer, she could draw from memory....oh yeah...and she could dance!
It got so bad that at one point I asked my sister to borrow HER softball trophies, so I could have SOMETHING displayed in my own room that was shiny.
But the dance contests...those were the one on one battles that could not be determined by teammates or put off by bad coaching. It was all on you.
And this is usually how a dance contest would go....
Darion would win the coin toss (always) and elect to go last (of course). I would push play on the stereo and dance my ass off, hitting the newest moves from the neighborhood, pointing at my mom as if she was a fan in the audience, spinning like Michael Jackson, pumping like Bobby Brown. And when the music would end I would take a bow. My parents would smile and clap. I would glare at Darion. She would grin at me. Then it was her turn. And this hefer would do everything I did and more. Neighborhood? She was doing dances that Janet Jackson had stolen from her! Bobby Brown? Every contest was her prerogative! In my head, all I could think was..."is this hoe really freestyling these moves!?!?!"
I could not beat her! Not once did my parents give me a sympathy victory. We would come from our rooms every time and they would announce her the winner. And I would shake my head....defeated.
And then I got fed the f*ck up.
I was gonna win the next dance contest.
I picked out the perfect song (probably a New Edition tune). I practiced any time Darion wasn't in the house (didn't want her to know I was so serious). If someone asked me to come outside and play, I lied and said I had school work.
Friend: Lil Dave, let's go play some football.
Me: Ummm, I have homework.
Friend: Dave, it's Saturday!
Me: Ummm, I have to fill out some college applications.
Friend: Ni**a we in the 4th grade!
And the day came.
The coin was flipped.
I won the coin toss and elected to go last.
Darion grinned. Pushed played. Did her thing...of course.
But I was ready for her mastery of the art form this time.
First off, I'm pretty sure I had on an outfit.
I started in a stance, like New Edition, you know, frozen before the music actually starts. And when I hit every move?!?! There was no smiling or pointing. It was pure, outright concentration. I had props, I jumped off furniture into splits, I took off my shirt....trust if I could have found a smoke machine, it would have been utilized!
I ended my routine in a pose. Out of my trance I looked up at my dad who was laughing so hard tears were running down his face. My mother was biting her tongue to not look like him and Darion was just shaking her head.
We go to our rooms.
We come back.
My dad is still rolling.
They announce me the winner.
I died inside but I just gave Darion the head nod.
But for me, it was a win. A great day.
I never won another dance contest, but looking back at that one triumph, it's still a great family memory I'll carry with me through any of life's defeats.
