+ By Vicki Meade + Photos by Christian Smooth
Trebien Parker’s dream is to spread world peace through dance. But at 10 p.m. on a chilly spring night in Annapolis, he’s content to bring smiles to bystanders as he bursts into moves he’s honed since childhood—athletic, precise, playful, and surprising.
In a green satin bomber jacket, black jeans, and white sneakers, Parker struts down Main Street, his JBL boom box pumping out “Dance If You Want It” by Toshinobu Kubota. In a flash, he spins, bends, kicks, jabs, pulses his body in jaw-dropping ways—and freezes. As if nothing happened, he retrieves his boom box and walks on.
“What I do is street dancing,” he explains. “It’s a combination of all kinds of dance forms—not just hip-hop and break dancing,” and he proceeds to list terms probably missing from the average dictionary: pop lockin’, housin’, krumpin’, new jack swing, electric boogaloo, the Cabbage Patch, the Roger Rabbit.
Born in 1990, the fourth of seven children, Parker became entranced by dance as a child when he saw the 1984 film Beat Street, with its famous dance battle scene. “I was like, wow. I want to be able to do that stuff,” he says. At the same time, he admired the power, precision, and speed of Bruce Lee in kung fu movies and was a fan of the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, especially the Black character Zack Taylor, who combined hip-hop dancing and martial arts in ways that Parker found inspiring.
He started watching dance movies and videos and discovered his knack for memorizing moves after one viewing. He’d mimic footwork and maneuvers until they were second nature—but he was reluctant to dance in front of others. “I was one of those kids who didn’t want to go out,” he says. “I was an introvert. I wanted to stay in my room.” At age 13, he began attending the local teen club, “a program to keep kids off the streets and out of trouble,” he explains, and got more comfortable with crowds. At Annapolis High School, he and his cousin, Christian Smooth, now a photographer and filmmaker, danced outside during lunchtime—“Some kids would laugh, but we didn’t care,” says Parker—and they performed in dance battles at pep rallies. By age 21, Parker was out dancing at local night spots and realized that his moves made people happy. His downtown jams became a regular thing.
On a spring night, Parker heads to the Federal House, where a gaggle of 20-somethings is chatting, drinks in hand. As the DJ plays “Low” by Flo Rida, Parker slips on his fingerless leather gloves and slides onto the dance floor. Now on his knees, now spinning, now head and arms moving like a robot. He taps a girl’s shoulder, and she laughs when he pretends to steal her drink and carry it away—suddenly he’s a mime, like Marcel Marceau. Then he bends back and his arms shoot forward, hands limp. Is that Frankenstein?
“I could never dance like that,” says Colin, age 25, who’s leaning against the bar with Jaeden, a friend from high school. “We’ve seen him here before, and it’s always fun, he’s so friendly.” Jaeden adds, “I really admire his confidence.”
Later, at O’Brien’s, the dance floor is full, and Parker watches, smiling. “I like to see people enjoying themselves. I’m not here to hog the dance floor.” But when “One Dance” by Drake plays, he drops into a split and springs up, twirls, and offers his hand to a jean-jacketed brunette. For a few minutes, they dance together freestyle, then, grinning, they high-five.
Asked what’s original about his style, Parker shrugs. “It’s improvisational. A hodgepodge. I’m doing dances that have been around since before I was even born.” As influences, he cites James Brown, Michael Jackson, Richard “Crazy Legs” Colón, Michael Chambers, and tap dancers such as Sammy Davis Jr. and the 1930s-era Nicholas Brothers. He loves all kinds of music, from old-school hip-hop to R & B, Latin, electronic, video game tunes, and underground artists’ works.
At five-foot-six and 185 pounds, Parker’s build is strong and solid. After 23 years of dancing—all self-taught—his moves tend to be instinctive, and he stays in shape via push-ups, squats, boxing drills, stretching, and long-distance walks.
Educational testing when Parker was young revealed mild autism. “Some subjects, I’m not a fast learner and I need to take more time to figure something out,” he explains. “Or I be having so many random thoughts and stuff. Now I just embrace it, but I want to spread hope and awareness about [developmental] disabilities.”
By day, Parker works as a hotel housekeeping assistant. But most Friday and Saturday nights, he’s out dancing downtown, promoting a happy vibe. “I know a lot of people struggle; they have hard days at work. But life is too short to focus on petty, insignificant things,” he says. “I have days when I just feel off, in a frustrated mood, but when I go out and dance, it’s all gone.” He doesn’t dance for money. It’s a mission, a calling. “I just love dance for what it is, I appreciate it as an art form, and I want to preserve these styles of dance for future generations.”
His mother named him by joining the French words très (very) and bien, (good/well), and he also goes by the nickname Breakerbot. His cousin calls him a humble giant—“He’s very thoughtful, very kind, and he’s always been like this,” says Smooth.
Parker describes himself as “a guy who likes to get along with other people, have respect for other people—just be a good person and do as many good things as I can.” He wasn’t born to be a dancer, he says, but he mastered it through determination and is grateful that God gave him this gift he can share with others.
Dancing—which he does so very well, in keeping with his name—is a thrill, pure and simple. Says Parker, “When I dance, I feel like myself.”
