Dance Lessons

Dance Lessons

I hated it! It was not my idea to take dance lessons. I was fourteen years old and needed to be outside with my friends playing baseball. You would think that after eight years of taking piano lessons from the nuns, my parents would give me a break. No, here I was taking ballroom dancing lessons.

I have a photo to prove it. Several years ago my sister sent me a birthday card with a cover photo of me dancing with a girl at the VFW club. It was the dance recital that culminated painful weeks of lessons. There I was dressed in sport coat, slacks, white shirt and tie. The look on my face said it all. My dancing partner didn’t look any happier. Actually she was quite cute.

Through the years, I realized that dancing was not on a par with going to the dentist. Although I was never mastered the rhythm, I managed to get out on the dance floor and make my moves. I remember the high school sock hops, the lindy, the twist and the stroll. The slow ones I was best at. Those dance lessons finally paid off.

For Christmas this year, I gave Judy dancing lessons. Not that she needed them but something we could do together. Every Tuesday night for six weeks, we hit the boards learning the Texas Two Step. Let me tell you, it is a workout swirling around the dance floor, changing partners, trying to concentrate on “quick, quick, slow, slow,” without stepping on my partner’s feet or running into another couple. It is fun.

Looking back at my youth, I see that many of the things I was “forced” to do by my parents were not terrible. They were opportunities to try new things. They knew that young boys don’t lean into ballroom dancing. They did know that a time would come when dancing would be a part of adult life. I am grateful for those experiences.

I still believe that eight years of piano lessons from the nuns is too much!