My dancing – offensive to some, horrifying to all

Remember the movie White Men Can’t Jump?

I’m thinking they need to make a movie about my dancing skills. No, it wouldn’t be called White Men Can’t Dance. Instead, it would be called This White Man Can’t Dance.

Oh sure, I can stand up and wiggle around a little bit. Let my arms move around like I might sorta know what I’m doing.

But let’s face it: the Ken doll has better movement in his hips than I do. And not just by a little bit.

I think there’s a good chance that I may have been born without a joint or two in my body. For years I used to wonder why I couldn’t touch my toes. I always figured it was because I wasn’t in good shape. But now I know the truth – my hips are fused together and about as flexible as a Tupperware Bowl.

I was in a fraternity in college. And I was lucky I wasn’t kicked out because of my dancing. But there’s a very simple reason for this: it was always dark at the parties, so no one could actually see the abomination that was me on the dance floor. Well, that and the fact that almost everyone might possibly have had an extra beverage or two.

In fact, looking back at it now, if cell phones had been around when I was in college, I probably would not only have been kicked out of the frat, but probably dismissed from the entire university.

So now I’m going to tell you something that I hope you won’t share with Child Protective Services. Quite simply, my kids have witnessed me dancing.

Yeah, I know. I know. I should be ashamed. And, perhaps, I should even have my Certified Dad License revoked.

But I’m not ashamed.

We got an X-Bot a couple of years ago. And I thought, Ooooooo, wouldn’t it be fun to have one of those games where you dance and groove and prance around your family room like you own the place. Oh wait . . .

And it was fun – for me!

I liked it so much, that often I would get up in the morning, flip on Dance Central, and do a little Boogieing to “Push It” as a warm up to running. I wasn’t worried that people might see me or what they would think about it if they did. In fact, one person did happen by the house and caught a glimpse of me. He’s still undergoing therapy sessions to this day.

And while it was good for me, it may have scarred my kids for life.

Ok, so I wasn’t terrible at the game. In fact, one time I even scored in double-digits. That’s good, isn’t it?

My daughter is actually very good. She’s so good, in fact, that it just gives me one more reason to consider that DNA test. My daughter is so flexible, in fact, that she can hula-hoop without moving a muscle. It’s an amazing thing to see.

As for my son . . . Well, I’m afraid there’s some bad news on that front. Yes, he is better than me, but only slightly.

In fact, we might need to change the name of that movie. Maybe something along the lines of This White Family (minus the daughter) Can’t Dance.