Too Much Passion
In class, while Rocker moves us through a warm-up routine that’s become as familiar as brushing my teeth, he’s chatty and observant as he shapes dancers with thoughtful, constructive criticism. But after a few margaritas, he’s disarmingly forthright. At a corner table in the noisy bar one Saturday afternoon, this lean, balletic man with broad shoulders, high cheekbones and tawny skin, his chocolate brown eyes framed by long, dark eyelashes, leaned toward me. In a few words, he answered a question of mine that I hadn’t dared to ask anyone because I thought it rhetorical -- and somewhat self-absorbed. Yet answers sometimes arrive unexpectedly. Or not. Because, I’ve been asking the question -- if not out loud -- for nearly 18 months since Rocker’s and Danny’s dancer magnetism lured me into their class . Over 200 studio hours later, I still thrive in their presence. I plugged myself into a whole new source of energy and self-esteem. They are undeniably my most influential teachers at this ...