About

 

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6

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PUT Your Best Foot Forward

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     With my mother frequently in and out of the hospital and Eugene engulfed in his own battles, I turned to binge eating as a way to fill the void of loneliness and isolation. My brother and I are nine years apart. Cooking and cleaning became my responsibility as my mother’s illness left her unable to manage these tasks. Within just two years I balloned and gained a whopping  80 pounds. I also was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. This marked a new chapter in my family’s life as hospitals and doctors’ visits became routine for me as well.  As a 13-year-old struggling with my  weight and body image, I didn’t realize how large I was until others relentlessly reminded me. Their taunts made me believe their harsh words, and I stopped looking at myself altogether, hiding behind what I wore, reading books, and food. School presented its own set of challenges. The nurse checked my blood sugar before and after each meal, a constant reminder of my condition. I became known as the “fat kid,” a label that, though painful, was just another addition to the names I was used to hearing. With my new body, I stopped rehearsing in front of the mirror because I hated what I saw. Disliking your voice and mannerisms is one thing that can be modified with skillful practice, but feeling disgusted by your own body is an entirely different experience. Deep down inside, you feel that you will never be enough for anyone. Enough.

 

 Father, perhaps with your absence, these feelings of unworthiness were amplified. A hyperawareness of inadequacy. 

 

When you enter a room, the first thing that people notice is your body size. The size of your body often influences their decision about whether or not to include you on a team. The size of your body often dictates someone's decision to go on a date with you.

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​    While masculinity and femininity can be chosen and acted out instantaneously, the size of our body simply is what it is. If you want it to change, you have to go on a journey and put in the work. Work that takes time. Our bodies and weight are not performances that can be adjusted immediately. It is a choice to have a good-looking and toned thin body, a choice that requires intentional exercise and lifestyle adjustments, such as going to the gym, working out, dieting, not eating altogether, or vomiting.

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      In a moment of misguided education, my eighth-grade home economics teacher did a class screening of The Secret Life of Mary-Margaret: Portrait of a Bulimic starring Calista Flockhart.  We all sat down and watched this sad movie about a beautiful, blue-eyed, blond-haired, white woman who thought that it was necessary to get thinner, and so she takes desperate measures.  As my classmates reacted with shock and disbelief, I quietly absorbed a dangerous revelation. While they gasped at the graphic scenes, I sat in the back, silently thinking, “I’ve finally found a way to shed this fat, disgusting body that I have always hated, a solution to becoming more attractive.” Looking back, it was not an appropriate film for children our age, but it planted a seed of desperation in my young mind, not realizing the perilous path it could lead to.

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       The routine was straightforward: I would cook dinner for my family several times a week. My go-to meals included two to three packs of Hamburger Helper or baking several boxes of frozen fried chicken or frozen burritos. On the side, I’d whip up a few boxes of mashed potatoes or some Rice-A-Roni. Dessert was often an entire box of brownies or chocolate chip cookies served à la mode with ice cream, accompanied by a pound-sized bag of Twizzlers, my favorite candy. I usually consumed two-thirds of the meal, leaving the rest for my brother Evan and mother. Eugene rarely touched what I cooked. 

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            This routine was frequent, yet I preferred to eat alone, not wanting my family to witness my consumption. I’d lock myself in my room, devour several plates while watching classic films, and then rush to the bathroom to vomit. It wasn’t always easy to purge the food. From documentaries about wrestlers who sometimes had to vomit to lose weight before a match, I learned tricks like drinking warm milk or mixing incompatible foods to induce nausea. 

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      This cycle continued for several months, and soon, I started seeing results. Within a couple of months, I had shed about 30 pounds. People commented that I was looking slimmer, though still “husky.” While I appreciated the remarks, deep down, I disliked what I was doing to my body. In reality, I was a 13-year-old black, half-African, thick-boned, nappy-headed teenage boy trying to emulate something I was not. I was not a varsity wrestler trying to lose weight before a match, and I certainly wasn’t Calista Flockhart when I looked in the mirror. No, I was your son. I wasn’t truly living in the skin I was in while chasing fantasies of being cast in a melodramatic soap opera about an already beautiful white woman wanting to lose more weight or daydreaming of being a wrestler whose career hinged on making weight for his class. It was a harsh realization, understanding that I was chasing after illusions instead of embracing my true self

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     Something had to change. I had to pick up the remote and change the channel. For whatever reason, around that time of my teens, the popular movie channel AMC kept showing the same films: Forrest Gump, Rocky, The Shawshank Redemption, and Flashdance. I knew about Forrest Gump because it was popular as a kid. My mother and I went to the theater to see it along with many American families. It was a cultural sensation like the 1997 film Titanic. Everyone joked about "life being like a box of chocolates and never knowing what you're going to get next." Many of my peers at school would mockingly chase one another on the playground during recess and scream the movie's most famous line, "Run, Forrest, Run!" and, of course, there was the seafood restaurant Bubba Gump Shrimp. If you were born in the late 80s or early 90s, it would have been impossible to ignore the social impact of Forrest Gump, but it was not my favorite movie. Then there was Rocky. I have to admit that I really enjoyed this film, and it inspired me to lose weight. The Survivor song "Eye of the Tiger" became one of my anthems and still is to this day, but as I watched the film, I knew I was not Sylvester Stallone. 

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     The Shawshank Redemption was another film and cultural sensation that was repeatedly screened. As a 13-year-old, I found the film slow and not much happened, but I noticed that adults liked it for its "depth and power." At the time, I was not too moved by prison stories but enjoyed the movie's haunting score. 

 

Last, there was Flashdance. It took me a while to watch the film, but AMC kept showing previews of a beautiful and stylish woman with wild hair dancing for an audition in front of what appeared to be pretentious, strict instructors at an art school like Juilliard. The preview had unforgettable music and energetic dance scenes, and I was capitivated by its aesthetic. 

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     Dad, have you seen any of these films? You must have seen some given their popularity. I know so little about you, other than you hail from the vast continent of Africa. If we ever spoke, I’d be curious to ask, “What were some of your favorite movies, and why?” and "Did American films even appeal to you?" 

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     Well, one of my favorite films was Flashdance. Set in early 1980s in Pittsburgh, it tells the story of Alex Owens, portrayed by Jennifer Beals. By day, Alex is a welder at a grungy steel mill, saving money for her real passion: becoming a professional dancer. She dances at night at Mel’s Bar, a cabaret-style venue where the performances are vibrant and risqué, though never nude, it is not a strip club. Despite this, society looks down on Alex, projecting assumptions about who she is without ever knowing her. Many men assume Alex is in it for the money, and that she’s promiscuous, but the film reveals a different truth. Alex is incredibly disciplined, spending hours watching ballet videos and perfecting her craft. Yet, when Alex looks in the mirror, doubt creeps in. She wonders if she’ll ever have the chance to attend a prestigious conservatory. How could a woman like her ever aspire to be a formal dancer at a school with trained dancers? 

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     The film resonated with me. It mirrored my own struggles with identity and perception. Watching Alex confront societal judgments and strive for her dreams gave me hope and a sense of kinship. Her journey was a reminder that we can all aspire to something greater, even when the odds seem stacked against us. 

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     In the film, Alex makes weekly visits to her mentor, Hannah, a former professional ballet dancer. During their conversations, Hannah rekindles Alex’s hope for a future as a formal dancer, encouraging her to envision a life beyond the cabaret stage. Inspired, Alex decides to apply to the Pittsburgh Conservatory of Dance and Repertory. In a pivotal scene, she arrives at the conservatory dressed in her disheveled steel mill clothes, only to encounter a line of tall, thin, and predominantly blonde and brunette women, clearly trained in ballet. As Alex walks through the school to collect an application, some women look at her with disdain, while others laugh. Though she tries to ignore their judgmental stares, Alex feels out of place and inadequate, leading her to leave the school without auditioning. 

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     Isn’t it astounding how we sometimes allow other people who neither know nor care about us—to sway our decisions about what matters most to us? We hesitate because our dreams are wild, seemingly impossible. We look in the mirror and convince ourselves there’s no way in hell I can pursue what truly fulfills me, what I believe God has called me to do. Watching the film, Dad, these are the thoughts that crossed my mind. The character of Alex Owens, played by Jennifer Beals, is a biracial woman with curly hair who has the chance to audition for her dream school. Yet, when faced with a room full of women who appear paler, more experienced, and, in her mind, more beautiful, she loses her nerve. I could relate to her experience. I wasn’t Alex Owens—I was a thirteen-year-old, husky Black boy, often ridiculed and teased for being too effeminate, called an Oreo, a faggot, and fat. Like Alex, I faced others’ assumptions and often made myself smaller around my peers in class to avoid conflict or stepping on anyone’s toes.  

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     Anyway, to wrap up the summary of the film—because there’s much more I have to tell you—Alex’s manager, Nick, takes notice of her at work and genuinely supports her dream of becoming a formal dancer. They go on a few dates, and Alex is surprised to find someone who truly believes in her ambitions. Nick even goes so far as to use his connections with the Arts Council to help secure her an audition.  Initially, Alex is frustrated with Nick’s intervention, feeling she should earn the audition using her own efforts. However, her perspective shifts when she learns about the passing of her mentor, Hannah. The loss deeply saddens her, yet it also reminds her of the importance of pursuing one’s dreams and the many lives of unfulfilled potential. Inspired by Hannah, who lived her dreams, Alex decides to seize the opportunity and go to the audition. 

 

     In a critically acclaimed scene, Alex enters the audition room. It is a space occupied by pretentious dance instructors studying audition materials, ignoring Alex' presence. The atmosphere is cold and intimidating, a stark contrast to the vibrant, electric stage Alex is used to, with its neon lights, loud cheers, applause, and exotic costumes. This audition space feels like it is a world away from the steel mill’s harsh environment of fumes, flames, and stone, and a world away from the solitude of her empty apartment where she dreams of becoming a formal dancer while practicing routines alongside her dog, Grunt. Here, Alex confronts reality. On paper, she is unqualified, lacking the formal dance training of the other women. She doesn’t look like them, act like them, and most importantly, doesn’t dance like them. Yet, she stands at a pivotal moment in her life. As she crosses the room to place her record on the record player, many instructors ignore her presence, treating her as if she were invisible. Despite this, Alex knows she must make a choice. The audition song Alex chooses is “What a Feeling” sung by Irene Cara. At first, when she puts on the record and begins her audition, Alex stumbles and falls on the ground. I imagine as she was on the ground, she figured she had nothing to lose.  And so, Alex gets back up and restarts the record, delivering a breathtaking, high-energy dance routine that captivates the judges. In the end, she earns her spot at the school. 

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     There are so many things I like about the film: The winning soundtrack with a score composed by Giorgio Moroder, the fashion, and the stark contrast between the day scenes at a harsh industrial steel mill in Pittsburg filled with haze and smoke, and the night scenes at a lustrous, showy dance club that feel like an electric post punk dream fantasy. But the main thing I like about the film is that Alex, despite her circumstances, decided to change her life. Alex let go of all the shame and feelings of low self-worth. Alex stopped looking in the mirror and telling herself she was unworthy of a better life. Like her mentor Hannah, she decided that the one life she was given was a life worthy of living, fulfilling her dreams no matter how crazy people thought she was. 

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After watching the film, my perspective changed. I had no idea if you had asked me what I wanted to be or do when I was twelve or thirteen. I rarely thought about the future. A future ceased to exist. But after Flashdance, I began thinking I wanted to become a formal dancer for Alvin Ailey or tour in a Broadway production that would allow me to dance.   Everything that I thought was possible had changed. In addition, I realized I did not have to do what I was doing to lose weight; with commitment, focus, and determination, I found a new way to lose weight - I was going to dance. With commitment, focus, and determination, I found a new way to deal with the bullying at school - I was going to dance. With commitment, focus, and determination, I found a new way to deal with the problems at home that were tearing my family apart -I was going to dance. Dance was the gift from God that saved my life. 

  

 

7  

CAN You Feel It?

 

Dance ushered in a whole new chapter of life that has informed the rest of my life. I remember turning the television off as soon as the movie had ended with Alex running outside to be greeted by her new boyfriend Nick, carrying a bouquet of red roses next to a sporty car and her bull-faced dog Grunt after learning that she got accepted into the conservatory. I went to my closet and found a nice black tank top, some knee-high socks I used to wear when I played baseball, and a pair of black boxers I could tuck in. I had to look just like Alex Owens in the final audition scene. I cut holes into the socks where toes are typically covered and ripped the sides of the tank top to give it a grungy appearance. I grabbed my radio player and went to the basement of our two-floor house in Lithonia, Georgia. Our basement was perfect for dancing. There was not much in the space save for a few unused appliances and boxes loaded with unused goods. The basement floor was hard cement painted gray. This made it easy for me to remember that Alex lived in a cold harsh world made of steel and stone. 

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     I sat down with the radio and began searching through different radio stations. At first, I did not know what to dance to because there were so many stations. In 2003, while living in Hotlanta, as it was called back then, there was some great RNB and Hip Hop; this was the golden era of Ludacris, Ashanti, Usher, 50 Cent, Chingy, Nelly, and Destiny’s Child. But as much as I liked this kind of music, it did not complement my ensemble as Alex Owens. I realized I had to find 80s music. And so, I turned to the 80’s music station.  

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     Growing up with a black mother who attended high school in the 80s and had an appreciation of music my childhood was filled with great music. My mother listened to Gladys Knight, Luther Vandross, Whitney Houston, Debarge, Earth Wind and Fire, U2, Prince, the Jacksons both Janet and Michael, and Bobby Caldwell. There are many things I must thank my mother for during my upbringing because she raised my brother Evan and me as a single mother with lack of support. However, an appreciation for and love of music was due to my mother. 

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      I say all this to say that I already had a vague familiarity with 80’s music. But it wasn’t until I turned to the 80’s station and began training to get into a conservatory that I would broaden my appreciation of that era’s music.  

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      The routine was simple: Every day after school, I would change into my dance clothes that I had to conceal under a large shirt and shorts so my mother or Eugene could not see what was happening. I would rush downstairs to our basement, blast the radio, and dance nonstop for two to three, sometimes four hours. As I danced, I would include calisthenics, push-ups, sit-ups, and stretches. I would spin, leap, chasse, kick-ball-change, and Pas de Bourree as I danced.  

  

     I made full use of the basement. Much like Flashdance, there was a stark contrast between my days at school and my evenings in the basement of the house, where I danced to 80s music. Even though I was recently rejected by a group of male friends whose company I enjoyed, I learned to appreciate time with myself and work on being better so that I would be accepted where I was meant to be accepted. That's how life is; just because you are not accepted in a particular environment or arena does not mean that God does not have a plan for you. It does not mean that God made a mistake, and that you must alter yourself for people who want you to remain silent. It just means that it is time for you to read the books that will stay with you, watch the films that will mold your heart, and dance to the songs that will help you find your rhythm. 

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     There were many musicians I became fans of as I danced during those long hours in the basement. I soon danced to The Clash, David Bowie, The Cars, Deniece Williams, and Cheryl Lynn. But my favorite artist from that era, as I danced with socks pulled up to my knees in the basement, was Madonna.

 

     There was something about her music that felt fun in a way that I was deprived of fun while at school. I remember listening to “Into the Groove” for the first time and appreciating that someone as sexy and cool as Madonna openly admitted in a song that it was ok to go into a room by yourself, lock the doors, and dance alone. I no longer felt like a freak for dancing in a room alone. I appreciated that in her videos, such as “Lucky Star,” the dancers were unbothered and cool and danced in a way that made me want to become a professional dancer. I appreciated that in her song “Like a Prayer” Madonna begins with a prayer to God and acknowledges that much of life is a mystery and there are times when you must have the faith to face things alone.  Something about Madonna’s music made me smile and added a pep to my step, making it easier to face the new day at school. I began to change, and my peers noticed this change because now, when they criticized me or mocked me, it didn’t have an impact, and I could tell this made many of them upset.  

 

     Like an actor given a role in a film, I envisioned myself in a similar position as Alex. I envisioned myself like Alex—not a dancer at a bar, but someone who didn’t fit in, as my peers often reminded me.  They readily reminded me that I did not have the right to speak or express myself because my voice was too effeminate, they readily reminded me during physical education that I should just sit on the bench because no one wanted the fat faggot to slow their team down and lose the game. But I no longer cared, like a movie, the music in the background was different. Now I was in a John Hughes film and I could hear fun 80s music playing in the background. I imagined that in ten years, I would be dancing at a conservatory. My life was now filled with joy, excitement, and the possibility of what could be. 

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Though my dancing career never took off, I’m proud of the positive impact it had on my life. By the time I turned fifteen, I had lost 80 pounds and was healthier and more confident. Dance taught me that life is full of opportunities for self-expression, and it’s up to you to decide to take a leap of faith and put your best foot forward. 

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