The Beginning of a personal Essay modeled after Kincaid's

I was not even five years old when I went to Dance for the first time. The room that I danced in was not in the Richards Building, where it was every Friday for the next ten years, or taught by Miss Becky, who was with few exceptions my teacher every time I went to Dance with BYU's children's 'creative' dance program, The Young Dancemakers. Dance was creative from the start. It was all about making up movements on the spot, no set steps or patterns out side of an occasional 'skip' or 'gallop.' For most of my growing up years going to Dance was a significant part of my life: a special treat, a fun time to see my friends, a time of adventure as I roamed the Richard's Building when we were there early, and eventually a time to be embarrassed of. On that first day we ran around, played tag, and froze in interesting shapes. If the teacher's son made a shape low to the ground, so did everyone else. If he made a high shape, we all followed suite. The teacher told us to make our own shapes, and I tried to do the opposite of what everyone else seemed to be doing, but I was never very good at it. And I suppose that's been my pattern in life ever since.