When Aunt Viv turned 40 on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air , she didn't just dance; she inspired my queer little 6-year-old self to dance too.
Source: youtube.com
When I was 6 years old, I got into the habit of holding my parents and their friends hostage. After dinner, by my sheer willpower and insistence, all of the adults I could manage to corral would find themselves in the living room, sipping wine and politely smiling while I stretched and turned on the radio.
"I'm going to dance," I'd announce over my shoulder as I fast-forwarded to the right song on Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation 1814 cassette: sometimes "Rhythm Nation," usually "Escapade" or "Black Cat" if I really wanted to make a statement. Once I found my song, I'd turn up the volume just shy of the point at which the speakers would screech, dramatically strike a beginning pose in the center of the room, count out "and 5, 6, 7, 8" in my head, and dance. No choreography or planning, but no shame either. I kicked, spun, dipped, stomped, and turned like that's what every 6-year-old kid did after dinner on school nights. The adults in the room weren't an audience so much as witnesses. I wasn't dancing for them. I was dancing for the fierce little black boy I saw reflected in all their eyes.
Source: youtube.com
On nights without dinner guests, I'd push the coffee table to the side of the living room and dance until I was too tired to stand. After a few weeks of these sessions, my mother caved in and bought a stereo for my bedroom. I would dance for hours with my door closed then. It was fun, sure, but more importantly, it just felt like something I had to do. I didn't bother asking for dance classes because I knew we couldn't afford it. And anyway, classmates would probably just get in my way.
At the time, it didn't occur to me that all of this dancing had a very specific catalyst. I thought it was just something I did when I was a kid and, sadly, grew out of. A few weeks ago, Awesomely Luvvie — one of my favorite blogs — did a post on Aunt Viv from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, and everything clicked into place.
