My high school in Florida was a public arts magnet school. Students “majored” in different departments — visual arts, music, communications, etc. One day on the Tri-Rail train home from school, a dancer told me she could tell I wasn’t a dance major just by looking at me.
I mean, she was right — I was a clarinet-playing band geek — but still, ouch.
Today, after a class in Afro-contemporary dance, a girl from the class happened to sit next to me on the bus. Halfway through the class, this girl had wanted to leave because she couldn’t follow the steps, but the teacher and students convinced her to stay. I said, “But you followed them perfectly!”
“Well, I watched you and the girl next to you,” she said. “You guys did everything right.”
She added, “You know, I thought white people were all stiff, but you move really well!”
So there you go, bitchy high school dancer. There you go.
And score one against racial stereotypes!
(FYI, if anyone in Bogota wants to come to classes, check out Adradanza.)