Big smiles and warm hugs greet me as I start another year of folklorico classes. I marvel at how tall my students have grown over the summer, listen to stories of summer getaways, and comment to parents about school happenings. I console, encourage, and coax a few of my littlest dancers who have never taken a dance lesson before. Pointing to the map of Mexico, I tell them histories of our newest dances and excitedly reveal details of our first performances. 

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In preparation for the first day back, I have already begun researching the regions of Mexico to present, designing the costumes, and reviewing choreographies. My dance studio is sparkling clean having swept, mopped, and cleaned mirrors in expectation of the first day back. Costumes are organized and are neatly hung in my storage room ready for my dancers to wear. 

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Later in the week, my adult dancers arrive carrying their dance bags filled with water bottles, practice skirts, folklorico shoes and everything needed to start zapateando. As I teach the footwork slowly and then with increasing speed, my dancers keep in pace with me. I smile brightly as I hear the clear, rhythmic sounds of the zapateado echoing throughout the room.  Looking around the room I can see my life’s work. I have dancers who began at four years of age and now are in their teens, adults who have danced with me for years, as well as newbies who are very enthusiastic. 

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I teach the rhythmic sounds of the zapataeado following in the footsteps of my own dance teachers, continuing the legacies of their teachings, and sharing the histories of our ancestors. A small tear peaks out of the corner of my eye as I become a tad emotional. For I am a Folklorista, one who endlessly loves her students, and shares her talent with all.