Irish dance-Only for the Kids?

So I am trying to research the history of adults in Irish dance.  What I am finding is a startling lack of information.  Any literature I try to get my hands on is no longer in print or just plain hard to get a hold of.   I’ve gone online and asked around to see what other ID’ers know about adults in Irish history, and the results are conflicting.  Some people say that Irish dance has always been for the kids and only recently have the adults come out of the woodwork.  Others have mentioned that up until the advent of competition and the advantage of beginning at a young age, Irish dancing had been a cultural pursuit mainly for adults.  Most do agree that the latest batch of adult enthusiasts appears to stem from the Riverdance craze that began in 1994.

You may wonder why I even care about how adults danced in the past.  The answer is simple:  we can learn how to bring about positive change in the future by examining the past.

I have only been Irish dancing for a few years, and I would like to know where the journey could take me.  I know what I want to accomplish in the next few months, or even a year or two down the road.  But I am a dreamer.  I want to know what is possible.  Can a dancer compete at the World Championships as an adult?  Does that mean she will have to compete against her teenage daughter to do so?  Could adults eventually have their own categories?  Performance such as Lord of the Dance, will they consider adults?  Is it possible for adults to brainstorm and find new outlets for their love of dancing?

If the world is a stage, I don’t want to be in the audience.  Having a few more birthdays won’t hold me back from pursuing what I am passionate about.  My question is not simply what can I as an adult Irish dancer do, but what I can become?

A (Mock) Feis to Remember

by Christy Dorrity

This article first appeared in the Sept/Oct 2009 issue of Feis America Magazine.

 My stomach lurched when I saw the judges at tables near signs reading "Stage A" and "Stage B."  I hadn't been this nervous since dancing in high school.  Walking past the vendors at my school’s “mock” feis, I headed backstage.

Dancers of all ages and sizes were adjusting dresses and lacing ghillies.  Looking down at the white shirt and black skirt that marked me as a newbie, I wondered if I should compete.  Who was I kidding?   As a mother of five, I should be running kids to soccer, not prancing around a stage.  Maybe I could sneak out the way I came in.

I turned around and ran into a class mother.  "Here's your number," she said, handing me a paper with the number one on it. I smoothed my shirt, feeling exposed and self-conscious in my bloomers and short skirt.  If only I had lost ten pounds before this event.

Slip jig, single jig, light jig - the names of the dances jumbled together in my head.  Would I remember each dance while the competitor next to me did something completely different, in front of people who were looking for my mistakes, all to music I had never heard before?  I panicked.

Peeking out at the crowd gathering by the stages, I saw my son waving a camera at me.  I felt better having loved ones cheering me on.

Soon, it was time for my first dance – the beginner reel. Standing with my feet crossed, I tried not to lock my knees. Younger girls reeled in front of me.  The floor felt slippery.  A new worry surfaced:  what if I slipped and fell?  Before I could explore that lovely thought, I was counted in.

Remembering to smile, off I went.  My legs took over, recalling what my brain could not. My body did exactly what I had practiced and no more.  I resolved to make it through the dance, crappy technique or not.  After thirty-two bars, I was bowing to the judges.  I had competed in Irish dance for the first time!

Backstage I eagerly pumped my friends for their experiences.  "Did you make it through?” I asked.  “You didn't fall, did you?"  But before I could find out much, it was time to dance again.

Everything ran smoothly until the last eight measures of my single jig, when the music came to a dead stop. "Step step, leap 2, 3..." I counted out the steps in my head and ended with my feet crossed tightly.  To think that I had worried about dancing to new music - I had just danced in silence and still remembered my steps!

 My confidence didn’t last - hard shoe was next and my chest tightened with nerves. I felt like a mule at a horse race. The floor felt more slippery and I prayed that I would stay upright.  Miraculously, the dance went smoothly - until the end.  Down I went, legs in the air.  A collective gasp echoed through the room and I scrambled to my feet.

 I didn’t have time to dwell on my slip-up; I had to line up for the Hornpipe.  It was the least polished of my entries, and I hadn't gotten to practice it.  My insides twisted tighter than a Celtic knot.  While I waited in line, I walked through the dance and successfully recalled all of the steps.  With one deep breath, I headed for the stage.

Pulling determination out of my emergency reserves, I counted myself in.  Believing that I would remember all of the steps, I gained confidence.  I should have kept my thoughts on my feet; one second I was gliding along easily, the next my mind was blank.  I had no idea what came next.  I looked at the girls dancing onstage next to me, but they were doing different dances.  I was lost.

I don’t know what happened next; I assume I repeated the basic steps until my counts were up.  Embarrassed, I bowed and snuck back to the warm-up area.  My friends encouraged me to forget my mistake and keep going. It was good advice, but hard to follow after messing up in front of people who were already judging me for my lack of youth and experience.  Nevertheless, with my hard shoe dances over, I sighed with relief.  After one more dance - a two-hand reel that repeated steps I had competed with earlier – I was done.

"I enjoyed watching you dance out there," said a woman backstage.  "You caught my eye.  Nice job."  I thanked her, surprised at how good a casual compliment could feel.

I had done it.  I, an over-thirty adult, had competed in an Irish dance competition.  Sure, I had forgotten a step here, a dance there.  I had even fallen on my behind.  But I had pushed myself to leap out of my comfort zone and challenge myself.  Confidence kindled in my heart, igniting a desire to practice harder and develop my talent.  I wondered: how would this practice feis compare to a real competition? Give me a few months to practice and I'll find out.

This article first appeared in the Sept/Oct 2009 issue of Feis America Magazine.

Dreams Resurrected

by Christy  Dorrity

This article first appeared in the June/July issue of Feis America Magazine .

“I bought you tickets to a dance show,” said my husband as he handed me Riverdance tickets.  We had never heard of Irish dancing before, but he knew I would love any dancing event.

The night of the show I fidgeted with anticipation, unaware of the vibrant world I was about to enter and the effect it would have on my future.  Haunting flute music filled the theatre, and I held my breath as dancers drifted onto the stage like ethereal creatures.  My heart pounded with their feet in a rhythm of longing that would not be quieted.  When the curtain dropped, I yearned to maintain a connection with the song and dance.

For weeks, I couldn’t stop thinking about Riverdance.  I listened to the music and researched the show’s roots, wishing I had known earlier about it.  My husband mentioned that it would be fun to learn to dance like the Riverdancers.  That got me thinking: could I learn to Irish dance?

As I considered taking dance lessons, obstacles surfaced.  I was quite pregnant with my second child, so dance instruction would have to wait.  I would need money for lessons.  I hadn’t danced since college; my muscles and technique were rusty.  And in my mind lurked the thought that I couldn’t dance and be a mom too.

After a year of debate, I took informal lessons from a local teenager.  I enjoyed the basic movements taught, and the class fueled the ambition that ignited when I had first watched the Riverdancers.

I found an adult class whose doors were open to anyone.  Lacing up my ghillies, I soaked up every dance my teacher introduced to our fledgling class.  Attending a weekly night class while my children slept required less of my family than I had feared. 

After learning several dances, I realized that it wasn’t enough to practice them; I wanted to perform.  My school offered a performance group, but only for children and teenagers.  When I learned that adults can compete in Irish dancing, it didn’t take long to find a certified teacher in my area.  Armed with a bag full of shoes and a mind full of questions, I began my journey to competition.

The satisfaction obtained from hours of training and focus was expected; the myriad of benefits that resulted were a bonus.  I found that even thirty-somethings can pursue dance and be taken seriously on the Irish dance stage.   I have gained strong friendships, my technique is improving, and my baby weight is disappearing forever.  My quest has even inspired my children to find dreams of their own.

I know there will be sacrifices as I balance a family of seven with my renewed pursuit of dancing.  Finding time to be a soccer mom and practice my light jig will be tricky.  But with a supportive family and a commitment to rearrange my schedule, I am confident that I can be a loving mother and still succeed in my ambition. 

Who says you have to hang up your ghillies when you turn eighteen?  No matter your age, you can dance your dreams. My two-year-old daughter may be tiny, but she is not too young to inform me that she is going to dance when she “gets bigger,” just like her mommy.  The ladies in my adult class may have decades of life experience, but they are not too old to get in their clicks.

Come along; experience the world of Irish dancing with a new adult competitor.  My first feis is only months away and I can’t wait to experience the thrill of performance.  Share in my struggles and success as I don hard shoes and treble down a fresh pathway to my dreams.

This article first appeared in the June/July 2009  issue of Feis America Magazine .