Rumblings & Ramblings

Last week I started this cooking program that I initiated at work with middle school students. We made lasagna “almost” from scratch, and a salad with homemade dressing. It was challenging, and there were some setbacks, however overall it was successful — although some remarked that the dressing was “too lemony” — they ate it up, the salad and lasagna.

While we ate I asked if they felt they could make the lasagna at home now. And they all said no. My heart sank a little, but I realized after telling Lara, who said: “Did you learn to cook well in one lesson?” — that I had unrealistic expectations. I certainly did not. Why should I expect these 12 and 13 year olds to be confidant and sassy in the kitchen after one workshop when they had little independent cooking experience?

The following evening I attended my first hip hop class. My first dance class. I’ve never taken dance lessons. The closest was one gymnastic class, one session I took when I was 6 in France. I had hopes of taking dance lessons afterwards - but then my family moved to Canada and my parents could not afford to enroll my brother and I in any extra-curricular activities. I’ve been wanting to go for a really long time but did not have the courage to. I’ve never really seriously articulated it, only in jest, nor have I pursued it. I found out Anne Marie was going and she invited me to tag along with her - giving me enough incentive to actually follow through.

And as predicted I was terrible.

T-E-R-R-I-B-L-E.

Térrible.

I cannot reiterate enough how bad I am. I can’t do a body roll to save my life.

I would not be exaggerating to say I was the worst person there hands-down-times-a-quadruple-thousand.
It was mortifying, knowing that I looked like I was straight out of a parody mocking someone trying to take hip hop dance lessons. But I was being serious.

But it was also humbling.

I still managed to have fun, laugh a lot, and got a good work out where I actually sweated. As this doesn’t happen ever - occasionally, sort of, when I bike in the summer. Even though there were moments where I contemplated bolting out of the room - which had a window into the reception area so that people could watch and laugh at you. Including an acquaintance, a teacher at one of the schools that I teach at. Anne Marie would give me a look as to say she knew what I was thinking every time I looked at the exit.

By the end of it I couldn’t keep up and had given up hope on getting my body to coordinate or my  arms to cooperate into the moves. To be in sync with Ludacris’  “How Low(can you go)?”. I still tried and tried - and even just let myself go and tried not to over think the moves.  I got over my unrealistic expectations of being good enough to be on America’s Best Dance Crew and reminded myself that people who are good at dancing practice hours upon hours on end, per day and for years.

So I can’t just give up now after one class.

And I can’t give up on this cooking program or the idea that somehow my facilitating these food experiences for these youth, to develop healthy food habits and life skills, will have some impact. Even when they are filled with some calamities and set backs. There are some victories.  The youth asked - after a long afternoon of cooking, having gone even past last period and the end of school - if they could make pizza from scratch next. And many teachers and students “dropped by”, enticed by the smell of the bolognese sauce simmering on the stove and the lasagna finally baking in the oven. The caretaker even walked in a couple times.

One day I’ll be able to blow everyone away with my mad hip hop dance moves which I’ll break out at a party (ok it’s still quite unlikely!).