Mixed emotions...

Continuing with my events last night, a whole lot of thoughts were running through my head. I am happy that I have dance to turn to, and Allan's classes always help me forget the random crap that pisses me off, well, at least for those two hours. I feel so professional when I am there, it's such an amazing feeling. I know I may screw up the moves a couple of times, but it's ok, cuz there are gonna be folks sitting on the stairs cheering you on. "Work it out y'all!" "You got it gurl!" "Back dat ass up boi!" "Go'on black pants!" Amongst all the various hoots and hollers. As I got on BART, I felt like crying... weird. I wasn't sad or anything, just felt like busting into a bucket of tears for some reason... maybe some hormonal thing, I dunno. I thought about it a little more as I passed through the tunnel. Thank God for dance! That yearning to cry was prolly more so tears of joy. Whenever I feel crappy, dance and music is something that I can turn to as an outlet. Often times when we are pissed at something or someone, we say and do things that we don't mean, regardless of how hurtful we know it can be. At least with dance and music, I can use these to chill out. Just takes me away from all the crap that comes my way. As I was sitting there sorting out various thoughts -- my dad, my grandma, my career path, my family, my friends, E=MC2, you know, all those precious thoughts that flow through your mind when you're on da B-A-R-T -- behind me were a father and son practicing the acoustic guitar. I was thinking to myself, man, that guy is hella lucky that his pops is there teaching him such an art. I don't know these folks, what they have gone through, etc., but I was thinking how cool it was that his father was taking an interest in him. To teach him such a beautiful skill, on BART no less. After they stopped playing, the dad began a convo with me. "Long day, huh? You look tired" he says. "Yes, work from 9-5, but I had to come over and dance tonight and that's where I came from." "Oh, I see," he looks over to the seat across watching his soon fiddle with the guitar strings and looks back, "that's my son. I'm teaching him to play." The way he said that was just touching to me. You could tell that he was hella proud because of that. The father's name was Pablo -- author of the previous quote -- and he was telling me about the same things I was thinking in relation to dance. How for him, playing music, in particular Spanish tunes, were his outlet. Regardless of how many problems he had, he could just pick up his guitar and go to the park and play. He told me that the guy that taught him had taught himself, and would practice everyday for 4 hours. Dayum! That's amazing. I am really thankful that we had our grandma and mom teach and support us in the various arts that had interest in, because it is important. It's one thing to have the desire to do something, but it's another to have someone support you and genuinely care. Thank you Pablo and son for helping me to remember that.