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The One Where I Danced a Lot

I DANCED WHEN I WAS A KID, and when I say ‘danced’ I mean danced (tilts head with an over-the-top click of the fingers). I danced at eisteddfods, at shopping centres, at school fairs, the Ekka (the Royal Queensland Show), conferences, football grand finals, in my nana’s shower, in my shower, and given the chance I’d dance in your shower too.

I was a self-proclaimed unique triple threat: I could Dance, Dance and DANCE. And I loved it.

My mum said that I could dance even before I could walk, but as I have said one billion times, my mum exaggerates a bit. This didn’t stop me from telling anyone who would listen, especially my fellow dance enthusiasts. You know those conversations you have with like-minded 12-year-olds about how you were born to do this and no one has the experience or dedication that you do?

‘I know all the dance moves to EVERY one of the Spice Girls’ songs, even “Viva Forever”,’ Julie would say over Macca’s while we sat in the splits.

Elissa would chip in, ‘Well, my big sister has taught me all the steps to all the senior dances, and she said that if any of the senior girls can’t do the end-of-year concert then I can totally step in because I’m so good at learning all the steps.’

I looked at these girls, knowing full well that what I was about to share with them would stop them dead in their flexible tracks. ‘Well, I could dance before I could even walk.’

Pause. Silence. Nothing.

‘Aaand my uncle’s a firefighter.’

They smiled. BAM! I knew it would floor them.

I danced at the Johnny Young Talent School (JYTS) on the Gold Coast. When I started there, it was the Colleen Fitzgerald Dance School. Then Miss Colleen married Mr Lance from JYTS and they merged the dance schools.

Look, I won’t lie, it was hard at first to accept the merger, but when the job opportunities came rolling in thick and fast to dance at Jupiters Casino on the Gold Coast because we were now known as part of THE JOHNNY YOUNG TALENT SCHOOL DANCERS (this must be sung, never just spoken, using jazz hands), we got over our loyalty pretty quickly.

I was 15 when I went on my first interstate trip to Darwin for two weeks and performed in shopping centres. There was a group of us that went, some as dancers, some as show comperes and some as suit operators. (You know those larger-than-life characters that walk around shopping centres during school holidays, scaring the piss out of all the kids? Well, there’s an actual person inside them, not just fear and misery.) In Darwin, I was lucky enough to be the suit operator of Sonic the Hedgehog, a rabbit and one of The Simpsons – I want to say Marge but I think it was Maggie. Given it was the September school holidays in Darwin, and the average heat at 8am was 37 degrees Celsius, I managed to halve my body weight in a week while still eating two-minute noodles 45 times a day. We all stayed in hotel rooms with balconies and would sun ourselves first thing in the morning as ‘morning sun gives you the most even tan’. This was my first and last interstate tour as I think my mum was worried after I came back from two weeks of work with protruding neck bones and a dependency on MSG.

Six-year-old Celeste Barber. This is still my go to pose when people want to take my photo.

I grew up near a beach that has bred some of the best professional surfers in the world, but it was lost on me. I didn’t do weekend nippers like everyone else because Saturday was dancing day – DANCING DAY – a day to dance: DANCE DAY! Mum would drop me off at class by 9am and I would carpool home like James Corden, singing the Spice Girls’ greatest hits, and since James hadn’t reinvented karaoke yet, our neighbours Esther, Bianca and Ashleigh were my lift home instead.

Jazz for the babies (two to four) was first and Bianca and I, along with other Show Group and Senior dancers, were student teachers. I didn’t love teaching but I just loved being at dancing, and especially on Saturday because it was when everyone from all the different studios across the Gold Coast would come together. We would compare the choreography we had learnt that week, and share clear nail polish to cover up the holes we made in our shimmers (they are stockings with a high shimmer finish, you guys: shimmers). We weren’t one of those dance schools that had to wear a uniform; we could wear whatever we wanted, as long as it was awesome and outshone the other dancers. One of the male dancers, who wasn’t ‘out’ yet, was partial to a fluorescent yellow unitard – an outfit that he would reserve for a 34-degree day, knowing he would sweat and make all the other curious boys jealous.

Miss Colleen always wore black, black on black with a side of black and something black. She always had a full face of make-up that my sister would say looked as though she had laid it out on her bed, tied her hands behind her back and just fell face-first into it. Miss Colleen did a few tours of Vietnam entertaining the troops in the ’60s – something that she loved and romanticised about often. She was a born performer and gave us and the studio everything she had, including her bad temper and sass.

After Babies Jazz came Babies Tap and a whole lot of noise. Intermediate classes came next and this is where it got exciting, because all the older dancers would start arriving and stretching or trying on costumes for upcoming shows, then there would be a break where we would run down to the 7-Eleven to get a medium Slurpee and a Killer Python, which we shoved in the straw of the Slurpee so it would freeze. Miss Colleen would put in her order of a cheeseburger with no bun, a can of Coke and a chocolate, which the most responsible dancer (AKA her favourite) would get for her. I was never asked.

Then it was back to class and our turn, the Show Group and Senior dancers. This is when we would TURN IT ON. We performed like we were at Madison Square Garden and J.Lo was our backup dancer. Well, I did anyway – I didn’t really know what the others were doing as I had my eyes closed most of the time to get the full effect.

Dancing was a place full of super-weird people that I felt safe with. Mr Fluorescent-Yellow-Unitard was super-bendy and loved to tell me inappropriate stories about his sex life. He called everyone the C-word before the C-word was even a thing. At first, I thought he just called me that as a nickname – a term of endearment, if you will. But then I found out otherwise, and was equal parts flattered and confused.

If I wasn’t meeting my potential in any aspect of my life he would challenge me and ask why. He would laugh at my jokes and roll his eyes when I complained that the prettier blonde girls had been put in the front row again.

Him: Listen, C, you will never be in the front line. Miss Colleen has her favourites and you’re not one of them. I love you. Get over it.

Me : But I’ve worked really hard.

Him: No one cares. Now, let’s sit in the sun and bitch about absolutely everyone.

Dancing was the first place, outside my family, where I felt safe being loud, ambitious and different.

Miss Colleen died in 2018 at the age of 77, and I will always be grateful to her for teaching me how to count to eight, and for playing show tunes so loud that I think it has caused me permanent damage.

Seven-year-old Celeste with 84-year-old sister, Olivia. Liv and I didn’t love ballet. We were more hip hop girls. Obviously.