I hope you dance
By PAT WICK
@Another Day in the Country
Growing up in a conservative church community, I never learned to dance. Really, I never even allowed my body to move to the rhythm of music, barely knew how to tap my toe. So, you could probably guess that one of the things I yearned to do was dance. By the time you are fifty, and have freed yourself to make some new decisions, if you haven't learned to dance properly, you're pretty much a lost cause — or so I thought.
My sister had similar desires to learn to dance and in her 20s she took up ballet. She stood at the bar with all the little tots who barely reached her waist and learned the moves. She was good at it, too. And then in her 40s she decided to learn ballroom dancing. She took lessons religiously, practiced diligently, bought dance shoes and dress, and I came to her performance at the end of the classes. She was magnificent. This ambitious, head-strong woman could follow her partner on a dance floor like nothing I'd ever seen before. It was amazing — like silk, fluid, lovely. Oh, how I wished I could dance.
There was always some excuse — money was too scarce, classes limited, partner non-existent, time unavailable.
When we started coming to Kansas in late summer, we'd go over to the Hog Roast in Tampa and I'd watch people dance in the middle of the street and think, "It doesn't look that hard. I think I could do it." But there was no one to dance with. Even my sister, the lovely, proficient dancer, found no partner.
"Wait until they've had a few beers," a neighbor of ours suggested. "That's when the men finally get out and dance."
"A few beers?" Surely you jest. Who would want a staggering dance partner stepping on your toes with bad breath?
My daughter sent me a birthday card a couple of years ago with a CD inside with the song, "I Hope you Dance." Little did she know how difficult this was proving to be!
Well, a couple of weeks ago, I finally got brave and went to a dance with my sister in Salina. No, I didn't really know how to do the two-step, but once again I said to myself, "How difficult can this be?"
I discovered that one of the biggest difficulties was that everyone seemed to do it different! The next problem was that people came to this dance like they were filling the ark — two-by-two. Any man who could actually dance was a hot commodity. He had to share himself around to available ladies. Seems to me that could be a masculine dream, "C'mon, country gents, isn't this what you've always wanted?"
When I was doing therapy with couples, in another life, my sister said to me, "I think you should start something new — dance therapy. In dancing, a man gets to lead but he'd better know what he's doing. A woman gets to follow — blend, meld — as she whirls around the floor. She's show-cased. Seems to me that most couples need to know how to do this. A little dancing, could be a good bonding exercise."
As I watched the couples dancing the other night, I was absolutely charmed by their exuberance, amazed at some of the expertise displayed by people way more than 60 years old. There was a gentleman dancing that was almost 100 years old and even though his gait may be slower, his dance steps were right-on! An ageless grace transformed these dancers, inspired by the music.
"Men of America, learn to dance!" You've missed something vital if you aren't proficient on the dance floor. It's the last place on earth where the rules say that you lead! It's another day in the country and I'm going to take dance lessons so that I know how to follow!
