Dance Lessons

 

I have rhythm. I can move to a beat and can clap at the right time while singing “Siya Hamba” in church.

But I never understood exactly what to do with that rhythm on a dance floor.

Occasionally, my parents would put their favorite 45’s on the record player (did I lose my younger readers here?) and would dance. Then Daddy would invite a very young (and smaller) me to stand on his shoes while he danced with me. I believe he thought it was a good way to teach me to dance, but it didn’t work.

When I attended school in the Blueridge Mountains of North Carolina, one rotation of PE was folk dancing. I did find it much more in line with my abilities than basketball.

In the 70’s the teens I knew either did country western dancing or the more common “hold and shuffle” which is what Martin and I did at Prom.

Then my children came of dancing age. The church youth group was planning a trip to Garner State Park on the Frio River. The youth leader was Carlyn Foshee Chatfield. (If you are a Garner lover you may have walked the Foshee Trail. Yes, she is one of those Foshees.) Garner had a dance every evening and Foshees believed it was a  required activity. Stephanie, Jennifer and Ben learned Country Western line dancing and came home to teach me. They began adding twirls, turns and flourishes but I contented myself with memorizing the basic steps and attempting to move the same directions as the persons to my right and left so no collisions occurred during “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”

They soon advanced to waltzing and two-stepping. Having a brother proved to be quite an asset for the girls. Ben became the go-to at any wedding or party. When they needed a dance partner, there was one in the family.

My dance experiences with grandchildren have been the more free-flowing kind as I watched young ones dance to Feliz Navidad or to Shakira in “Zootopia,” then later line dancing to Cha-Cha Slide and Cupid Shuffle.

But even though I never took dance lessons, I have learned some lessons from dancing.

At a retreat with my Episcopal Administrative Assistant friends, we were treated to an outdoor dinner with Country Western music. When the DJ invited everyone to dance, I learned that life is too short to sit on the sidelines, so I joined my friends and danced with a sense of freedom. I was pleased that those line dancing steps were still in my long-term memory.

While in chemo for my cancer, our annual extended family Christmas party included dancing. I learned that waltzing with my son is always a good way to feel graceful and a reminder to be grateful for life.

And I have learned that hold and shuffle dancing with Martin translates to hug and sway and can be either very romantic or very comforting as needed.

Ben told me once that when he gets his forever house, he hopes it has a space big enough for dancing. Me, too, Ben.