When we were kids, my cousins and I used to make up skits, which we would present to our parents, grandparents, and anybody else who was willing to endure 15 minutes of our bad acting and dancing. One year, at a family reunion, we put on an elaborate presentation for 50 extended family members and, although I can't remember the exact details of the show, our parents still talk about that skit.
Fast forward twenty years to Saturday night. We're sitting in a bar, the night before my cousin Katie's wedding, and my cousin Mike half-jokingly proposes that we do a skit at the wedding. I'm a little fuzzy on the details, but somebody proposes we do a dance to Apache--that we, you know, jump on it. Everybody has a good laugh at the bar and promptly forgets about the awesomeness of the idea.
Everyone except me.
And, so, on Sunday night, I gather all ten cousins for a meeting (the original nine cousins plus Will who, in moments like this, surely regrets having ever married into our crazy clan). We are mostly in agreement that a skit is in order. Those of us not in agreement have consumed enough alcohol to go along with the plan anyway. Cousin Alyson talks to the DJ. We quickly work out the important details (i.e. which direction to face, which way to turn, which hip to swing out first).
When the dance floor is clear, we make our move. We grab the bride and quickly explain the details. We spread out over the floor and we perform our first skit in over twenty years, a decently choreographed routine.
I don't have a video of the event, but I can tell you with certainty that it looked something like this:
Anyway. We are awesome, of course. The dance floor soon fills up with guests who join us in jumping on it, including dozens of people who have flown in from all over the world for the wedding (the groom, you might remember is from the UK).
When the dance is over, we high five each other and Alyson points out that we really brought it to the dance floor. We are impressed with ourselves. We showed everyone HOW IT IS DONE.
An hour later the groom's extended family takes the dance floor and, for the next twenty minutes, they superbly execute two fabulous traditional, elaborate dances. Lovely dances from Ireland or maybe Scotland (again, I'm a little fuzzy on the details. Blame the champagne). There is twirling and patterns and people weaving in and out. Clearly this dance, unlike ours, was not organized in a five minute meeting after too many free drinks from the bar.
And, so, the Kelly family brought a lovely and intricate time-honored jig. The Johnson family? We brought some corny hip-hop. Welcome to America.