Mar 2, 2023
Rediscovering healthy masculinity through African Diasporic movement
Published by Bopsidy via Medium
When I was young, the last thing I could’ve possibly imagined becoming was any kind of performing artist, and especially not a dancer. I was a social but shy, history-loving, Black comic book nerd from Newark, New Jersey. I loved to talk to people and learn about their experiences, but the thought of speaking, let alone performing in front of anyone, terrified me. Even at family gatherings, when my family would bust out their favorite two-step or Electric slide during family cookouts, I insisted on staying as far as possible from the dance floor. Even when everyone was cutting up and the dance had freaking directions, as far as I knew, I had two left feet and was allergic to finding the rhythm. At the same time, it was the late 90s, and Michael Jackson’s singing, dancing virtuosity reigned supreme as a King of Pop. I’m sure I wasn’t alone among the millions of children who almost face-planted trying to mimic that inhuman Smooth Criminal lean or tripped trying to Moonwalk in their bedroom mirrors. Still, it would take nearly a decade before the boy in the mirror would take the stage and change his life.