Five forms move rhythmically, struggling to keep up with the sassy beat, intensified by the flashing pinks, blues, and yellows of neon lights that cut through the surrounding darkness. The whites of their eyes are transfixed on the steady arms and legs of their teacher, moving effortlessly in front of them, as her movements become automatic, graceful, and hopelessly perfected. With their pony tails gently slapping their cheeks as they turn their heads to the side, I cannot help but remember my own dance class experiences. Fifth grade, a year of inner searching before a transformation that is already awkward in itself and then our parents signed us up to learn to ballroom dance, as if they figured a few lessons of cha-cha and waltzing could turn us suddenly into swans.
Lillian Knight, though, is learning no fox trot. She has taken up Latin hip hop, determined to arise as the next Shaquira and with the way she is learning to swing those tiny hips, that goal might not be so far fetched. I, having made a resolution to be more punctual for this upcoming year, have arrived a half an hour early to pick up my cousin as a favor to an overly stressed Aunt. Pulling back my gray turtleneck to glance at my watch, I muse that this is goal is something that is going to need a little work as well to perfect. Content to just watch these girls with interest, I settle myself on a stool facing the window observing my Lilly in her tight black sweats and pink t-shirt.
After several minutes, I eventually tire of watching these Latin beauties, so instead I let my eyes avert to the other window in my view. This is a regular classroom, the light bright, encompassing the surrounding with students filling it that are remarkably small. I cannot help but smile as I take in their miniature bodies, amazingly capable of copying the choreography of their instructor. I recognize that this is just a warm up but the proficiency they have at such a young age is astonishing. The teacher comes up closer to the window, carrying herself like a dancer with her tall frame and slim figure. With her back towards me she stops the blaring music that has just been playing and puts in a different CD. Watching the girls giggle with one another while having had a slight break, the new song starts, its loud thumping audible from where I am perched. Suddenly, completely shocked, I hear that almost seductive voice blaring through the room. The song they are learning to be graceful from is not graceful at all, in fact the name of the song sums up its message in one word, dirty. I can see in my mind, as I shift positions now uncomfortably from where I am sitting, the cover of the album featuring this track. Christina Aguilera is standing, arms extended above her, her long blonde hair with black streaks strategically covering up where she is lacking a shirt. While browsing over the CD selections at Tower Records, Charissa, Britney, and I had watched as our companions Josh and Sam had searched in desperation for that particular music collection to catch a lust-filled glance. Discovering it next to us and fully offended by their peaked interest, we grabbed all of the stacks and had proceeded to hide them next to Buddy Holly, laughing as our male friends naively scoured the racks for their precious princess of pop. Our efforts were to no avail though, there was no escaping it, for an almost life-size poster hung on an opposite wall. Soon like fools they stood, their tongues hanging out like dogs, drooling at the sight of an almost naked body.
Do these girls have any idea of what they are listening to? This song is being started over and over again, the words inevitably drilling themselves into their innocent heads. Coming back to where I am, what I am about to see will soon surpass the limit of disgust that I have thought I could reach for this evening. As these nine and ten year-olds go through the routine, they reach the end of the small part they have thus learned, kneeling on the floor. I almost fall off my chair at their final movement. Gripping the fronts of their shirts as instructed, with passion they thrust their hands outward, pretending to expose themselves in a truly Aguilerian gesture.
The teacher then starts this song over again in order to give her pupils more opportunities to perfect these deplorable moves. I am still able to hear distinctly the words surrounding them. “Dirty. Filthy. Nasty. Too dirty to clean my act up. If you aint dirty, you aint here to party!” These are vocalized by in a man’s jarring tone before Christina takes the spotlight to croon, “DJ’s spinning, show your hands and let’s get dirty that’s my jam. I need that…to get me off, sweatin’ till my clothes come off.” This is of course is when these small girls follow suit, allowing their clothes to imaginatively come off.
What messages are these girls receiving from the girl who once sang in the Disney movie “Mulan”? They are undoubtedly listening to “Dirty” hundreds of times in order to practice additional times. Can they sing along already? I start to reflect upon whether or not their parents have any idea that come Spring they are going to watch their little babies strip off their glittering jackets as if they were in an adult-movie. Do we want our rising generations of women considering themselves tools for carnal satisfaction? Do we want the idea planted in their heads that “if you aint dirty, you aint here to party?”
What has happened to society? It seems like every year the world falls that much farther into a lack of morals and do we even notice it? Gazing into the room in front of me, I start to think to myself that we really are in the dark. I think about how I, just like thousands of Americans across the country click through my email automatically deleting most of it, not even registering that these files are invitations for pornography that are ready at a click of a button. There is so much filth on the Internet that a child could easily fall into its trap. Have we ever thought about how much the media has changed? When Rachel, Ross, and the gang first made their debut, their interchange, as Friends, was benign compared to what is featured today. Pornography has become a norm for all males in the group from Joey to Chandler. It’s not just the NBC Thursday lineup, the entire media has gotten progressively worse and do we recognize this? On MTV we now have shows like “Undressed,” and what about family sitcoms? We have gone from “Ozzy and Harriet” to “Ozzy and Sharon.” Instead of a warm and hardworking family, we now cheer on a group of lazy people sitting on a couch and a father that curses an inordinate amount of times in front of his own children. By the time the censors of the television network get through with his ruthless dialogue it sounds like he is talking in Morse code. Do we notice this? Do we ever think about this?
What has society portrayed about relationships in general? Do we have family dinners anymore? Why are so many divorces now arising? First graders are now obsessing about having a boyfriend and girlfriend. Their older siblings in junior high are grinding intimately with one another at school dances. Do parents turn their heads calling it just “dancing?” not even contemplating the consequences that perhaps there could be some emotional and physical feelings involved? What are we teaching our children?
I often pause to question what kind of world my own children will grow up in, if this is what is considered “status quo” right now, but it is not status quo. This is not normal, we are only causing ourselves to consider it so. Like frogs ever so slowly boiled in a pot of water, we at times perceive that is everything is fine, that are no large repercussions for the darkening changes around us. Having no idea that the heat is every so gradually rising we remain motionless, ignorant of the fact that eventually we are going to reach a boil. We can stop this. We have control of the decisions we make, of the decisions our children are making. Let us not be afraid to go against what the TV is telling us, what the billboards are selling to us. We need to put an end to this steep hill of corruption before we fall drastically.
My thoughts are interrupted as Lilly opens the door and joins me in the waiting room of the dance studio. Walking down the hallway to my car, I still ponder upon what I have just come to realize. “Maybe”, I think to myself, “this year’s resolutions should be deeper than, ‘I’m not going to get any more speeding tickets.’ Perhaps as a society instead of deciding that we are not going to eat, shop, or waste as much, we should be concentrating on things much more detrimental, more complicated. Let us refuse to let ourselves be numbed any longer, let us take a stand against the degrading aspects of our world. It is our community, our Earth. Here is 2003, now what are we going to do with it?
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