I can’t dance.
Okay, that’s not exactly true. I can Twist. I can do The Bump. I can do the hands-in-the-air-like-you-just-don’t-care dance that I showed off in the 70s….and then along came the Hustle and this dancing queen turned green with envy and vacated the dance floor, taking my seat with the other wallflowers.
Anything choreographed is beyond me. I even struggle with following along to Y-M-C-A. My C is always backwards. Country line dancing – forget it. I’m two left feet. I avoided those nights at Billy Bob’s.
I’ve watched the movies - Saturday Night Fever, Flashdance, Footloose, Dirty Dancing – thinking if they can, I can, but I’m afraid they would, indeed, put this baby in the corner. I live in Texas and don’t know how to two-step. That’s a cryin’ shame and could be a reason to take away my “I wasn’t born in Texas but got here as soon as I could” card. The only thing that’s saving me is my ability to drink beer from a bottle.
Believe me, it’s not for a lack of trying. My mother had me in tap classes when I was 4. There is a picture somewhere of the class – I’m on the top row, far right, black leotard and skirt. I remember the bright red lipstick. I also remember sitting in the corner, shaking in fear, crying my eyes out, when it was time for the recital. My dad was a very good dancer, loved to jitterbug. I asked him to teach me and he said always said one of these days. I have to wonder if it was because he was really that busy or if he was afraid I’d embarrass him. I’m not a natural like he was.
William W. Purkey said “You’ve gotta dance like there’s nobody watching. Love like you’ll never be hurt. Sing like there’s nobody listening. And live like it’s heaven on earth.”
Wise words, Mr. Purkey, wise words.
I’ll take them to heart.