I am a klutz. No doubt about it. My husband says the only time I’m graceful is when I’m on the stage. He’s kind of right. Odd that a dancer is so accident prone. One of my theories is that I am always in constant motion, moving too fast, going from here to there. Whatever is in my path, watch out! Someone will inevitably point out a bruise somewhere on my body and I have no recollection of how it happened. This summer was no exception in the klutz department. A sprained foot, a month in a boot, but the teaching never stopped. We carry on. It is amazing what the voice and upper body will do to compensate. While I have been slightly incapacitated, it has given me reflection on past injuries and klutzy behavior. Really, all I can do is laugh. When we are young adolescents, our world is focused on ourselves. We don’t have the maturity yet to process the bigger picture and our surrounding universe. We have a hang nail and our world comes to an end. My memories conjure up such a young person, my younger self being phobic, insecure, not a risk taker. But if I peel back the layers and dig a little deeper, I was also funny. Funny, and yes, klutzy, even way back then. Silly, ridiculous things were happening to me all the time. I wasn’t just a hormonal, dramatic mess. I was a funny, klutzy, hormonal dramatic mess. Thinking about it now makes me feel great empathy for my younger self. I recently had one of my sweet alumni remind me of some of the klutzy stories I shared over the years. My students find them entertaining. I’m on to them, of course. Keep her talking and perhaps we won’t have to do that petit allegro combo one more time! As my dad says, if you’ve heard me tell this story before, don’t stop me, because I’ll enjoy telling it again!

The opportunities for performing in community theater musical productions were far more limited when I was growing up. Now, they are certainly more plentiful. My dad directed, both my parents choreographed and performed, and I logged many hours observing from the sidelines. It was a family affair. They would pile the five of us in the car for rehearsals. My sister and I thrived on this early theater education. We were having so much fun, we didn’t realize how much we were learning and absorbing. My brothers hated every moment. I have no recollection of where they were in the theater or what trouble they were getting into while I was suppose to be watching them. I didn’t really care. The only thing that mattered to me was when I would be allowed to get on the stage. My parents encouraged our love of the theater but limited us to one show a year. I was about fourteen when my dad asked me to be part of the dancing ensemble in a production of “How to Succeed in Business….”. I was only in one musical number, but I LOVED IT. Now, this is where I must tell you that my sister says “When it takes five minutes to happen in real life, it takes Debbie about a half hour to tell about it”. I am verbose. So, I will cut to the chase. Rehearsals were a blast, dress rehearsals so glamorous, then it was performance time. Dancers on two sides of the stage, crossing and passing through, somewhere a tour jete was involved, and my legs entwined with another dancer’s legs….now, this is what I don’t understand. Why was I the only one to go down like a ton of bricks, splat on the stage, while everyone else calmly kept dancing? It was a mortifying experience. The only thing that was seriously hurt was my pride, but I was encouraged to keep the tears at bay, and buck up. A lesson, I did not realize, that would serve me well for decades to come. First musical theater production ever. Klutzy.

Fast forward a year or so. Same theater. Another ensemble performing opportunity in “Mame”. Lots of dancing. The first partnering experience with a boy! It was a four show weekend, and we were in the middle of the third performance. I was backstage getting ready to go on, wearing a very cool costume, stretching my leg in a split up a wall. A photographer came by and said this would make a great picture. So, I did it again for him. He said, “Look up”. So, I lifted my upper body to smile for the camera, and as I did I felt and heard three distinct rips of my right ham string. Everyone else standing nearby heard it too. It took absolutely no time to assess I was in serious trouble. But, who went on and performed the number anyhow?? Crazy, klutzy me!! If any of my students are reading this…..and you should be….I am not bragging, I am just demonstrating that indeed, THE SHOW MUST GO ON!! (and ok, I admit, perhaps a bit more stretching before the performance would have been a good idea…see, there’s always a moral to the story) My poor partner had to prop me up the entire time. Needless to say, I was seriously injured. No dancing for the next six weeks, crutches, the works. My understudy went on for the final performance. Now, here’s the deal, most community theaters do not have understudies. But I have a sister, who sat through every rehearsal and knew the choreography forwards and backwards. She was a champ, and a pro, at the age of twelve. She’s always had my back.

My klutzy behavior has been a common theme my entire adult life. It continued in college and followed me to my professional career in NYC. One expects a dancer’s life to be riddled with bumps and bruises, mishaps and injuries. So, what do we do? We pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off…..oh yes, all you musical theater babies, she is going there….and start all over again!! I love that my klutzy stories are part of my history. I’ve tried to use these moments, hopefully, to build character and resilience. Poking at old memories can also be therapeutic. I have learned not to take life quite so seriously. Sadly, I met someone once who tried to shut down my storytelling, passing it off as insignificant. Nope. No one is going to silence me. If my stories can help just one young student realize that they can rise above the day to day speed bumps, then I have done my job.

p.s. Literally, the day I starting writing this, I banged my arm into a door jamb. No lie. My husband just shook his head. Woke up the next morning with a bruise. WHY?? lol