Choreographer Al Blackstone on Rising Up in a Dancing Household

Dance was inescapable in my childhood. My parents are dance teachers and ran a school out of our New Jersey home for more than 40 years. When I was old enough to answer the phone, instead of “Blackstone residence,” I was instructed to say “STUDIO!” Photos from an early ’90s family trip reveal my dad proudly wearing a T-shirt that says “Dance or Die—New York City.” I remember feeling embarrassed that he was wearing something that so loudly proclaimed his love of dance to all the other “normal” families.

Although I didn’t choose it at first, it took an injury at age 14 to realize that I, like my father, would rather “die” than live a life without dance. I fell madly in love with being in a studio full of sweaty bodies and beautiful music, and I was deeply fortunate to be in the classes of teachers like Frank Hatchett and Doug Caldwell, where the room often reached a state of collective joy. How could I imagine a life doing anything else?

But, of course, not every day of my journey was full of joy. There was uncertainty and disappointment. Thankfully, over time, I found some stability. In my 30s it suddenly felt important to remember how to dance purely for fun, and I started going to dance parties regularly. I made lasting friendships with people who loved to dance but had never had a lesson. I’d bop right up to them and shout into their ears “NICE MOVES!” When a great song came on, we would smile knowingly and celebrate.

Sometimes when I’m teaching a class and we’re having a really good time, I’ll say to the students, “Can you believe we get to do this???” How fortunate are we to share something so precious, so spiritual, even? But I know that part of its power is that it doesn’t last forever. Dance appears in a flash and then disappears just as quickly; it’s gorgeous that way.

I was born into a dancing family, so perhaps dance chose me as much as I chose it. As time passes, I only grow to appre­ciate more and more what it provides. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to scour eBay for a T-shirt like the one my dad wore all those years ago. I’ll wear it proudly on my next vacation. Dance or die, baby.

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