“If you give up here, you will give up for the rest of your life!” These words pack a mighty punch to a studio filled with 40 students  and they weren’t coming from the mouth of some business guru at the head of an annex learning series. These words came from Paris-native, Salah Benlemqawanssa, a popper/comedian extraordinaire who was guest teaching classes at Broadway Dance Center in New York City. Only 30 years old and slight in stature (that’s not to say he isn’t a Goliath in presence and strength), he’s clearly blessed with an urban-wit and classic-French charm. Oh, and talent….ALOT of talent. But, I’d venture to  guess that his ability, unlike his comedic sense of timing and good looks, comes from good old-fashioned hard work.

I could use my words to describe the class, the drills, the exercises, all of which were fantastic and left me with PLENTY to work on, but it’s the nuances of his methods and manners that left me feeling the most uplifted. It was the constant reminding us that we must push ourselves, without fear, to be better than we are. The vital part of that, which most teachers miss, is that as we are is OK. (I’ve been in classes where if you’re still at a nescient level you’re laughed at, which definitely feels as bad as it sounds. Imagine trying to learn in an environment like that?!)

He very cleverly began with a metaphor of the journey from infancy to adolescence-we start off barely able to leave our mother’s breast and only with time, encouragement and practice do we learn how to walk on our own two feet. Translation: you can’t skip to the walk, you have to learn to crawl first.

Then there’s the lyrical quality the class took because of the language barrier (though there wasn’t much, Salah’s English is far better than most hip hop dancers born and raised in New York). This is probably a better testament to my French-obsession, but I took an odd pleasure in hearing him say, “tree-ceps” (that is, “triceps”)  and stumbling to find the proper English word for “hanches” (that is, “hips”). It just shows a vulnerability in someone that on every other level is better than those of us that were in that room (by better I mean in his genre, I’m sure everyone in that room had some talent that was superior to his neighbor) and that immediately transposes them as contemporaries rather than Gods. But maybe that’s only my interpretation because I find these sort of things to be winsome.

I can only hope that my attempts at  not only speaking French, but improving the boogaloo-style of popping are met with the same affection.