How a Tap Teacher Destroyed My Dreams (for now)

Since I was five, I've wanted to be Gene Kelly. While hanging in the French Alps, one of my father's students taught me basic tap on the floor of their classroom. Centuries later, in 2004, my brother and I went to a beginning tap class at Steps on Broadway--but it was for ADVANCED beginners. We sucked. Three years later, I was watching An American in Paris with BF. I had goosebumps during the "I Got Rhythm" song. So, I decided to try a remedial class at Steps on Broadway. I even checked with the front desk to make sure it was appropriate for someone who was, shall we say, not at all graceful.

I had high hopes. But then, I noticed the other students were twirling, stretching and tapping. They had marvelously toned bodies, like Gene--not like me! Was this truly a beginner's class? Ah, the teacher announced that it was. So it began. In the first five minutes, I was brilliant. The teacher even picked on another girl. Then my horror and humiliation began. For the next fifty minutes, this teacher singled me out on almost every move. Barked at me even when I did as she asked. This was like every bad teacher movie where the instructor is nasty because they know it'll toughen up the crappy student (who will then be grateful). In at least three instances, tears welled up in my eyes. I was only going there to have fun. She even asked me my name in front of the class, announced it, made fun of it, noticed my near-sobbing face and pointed out to everyone that they shouldn't feel overwhelmed. Thank you, dear lady, I will never take yours or any other %&$*&ing class at Steps again.

And if anyone who works there reads this, I already know it's probably a great place to take classes. Just not for me. I already went to public school in France where public humiliation (and corporeal punishment) was a daily part of their grading system. Yes, poor me. But at least I still have the goosebumps.