Dear George,
I’m just crazy about line
dancing. This week is the
four-year anniversary of my joining my Tuesday night class at the fitness
center. Only one other person,
Evelyn, has been there that long.
Katja and our friend Donna started out with me. However, Katja discontinued to have
knee surgery, and Donna, who’s an excellent dancer, decided line dancing was
too repetitive and stopped going too.
I myself, though, become more infatuated with line dancing every
week. The music is really good,
from country to boogie woogie to hip hop.
We’ve learned over a hundred different dance numbers since the class
began. While each routine is
distinctive, they tend to be different combinations of the same basic set of
steps. So, while learning new
dances is always demanding mentally, you can become proficient in a short
time. When things are going well I
find myself “in the zone”, merging with the music without having to think about
the dance steps at all. That’s the
best.
Recently I signed up for a
second line dancing class that’s held on Monday nights at a school out in the
suburbs. With sixty or seventy
students, it’s about four times as large as my Tuesday night class. About 90% of the participants are
women. I don’t know why line
dancing draws more women than men, but it seems to do so. Maybe women like dancing by themselves
in a group situation more.
Sometimes I feel a little odd about being a token male. Last week I was the only man there for
the first ten minutes. Finally one
other guy arrived, and I relaxed. I
do like this big class a lot.
There’s so many people that you can get lost in the crowd, and you feel
like you’re part of a big, anonymous, cohesive conglomeration.
Thinking I should expand my
repertoire, I suggested to Katja that we enroll in a ballroom dance class that
a local dance studio was advertising.
We’d taken lessons there once before and enjoyed them, so she readily
agreed. Two male students (a guy
named Rex and myself) and fifteen women showed up for the first class, not an
ideal gender balance for couple dancing. The head instructor, Jean Ann, took
the male role in dancing with female class members, and her assistant Richard
also participated. Nonetheless,
ten of the women dropped out by the time of the second class, so we were down
to more balanced numbers.
I was doing o.k. until we
began learning the rumba in session two.
The class operates by switching partners every few minutes. Shortly into the class period I got
paired with a petite, red-haired woman named Arlene. I’d already decided Arlene was the best dancer in the class,
especially on the rumba. We’d
danced for about ten seconds when she told me in a stern voice that I wasn’t
holding her hand firmly enough. I
think I’d been being timid, trying to avoid contact with female strangers. I tried to correct my grip but she
admonished me again and said she was going to push hard on my hand if I
couldn’t push on hers. She did
push hard, and then it was time to change partners. Fifteen minutes later Arlene and I were about to be paired
up again. However, she turned to
the woman next to her and said, “I don’t want to dance with him. You dance with him.” The other woman, Sally, gave her a
strange look but did join me.
Sally smiled throughout and I thought we were doing better. Near the end of class Arlene and I got
paired together one more time.
When the song reached its conclusion, I said, “That was good.” Arlene looked me dead in the eye and
said, “That was not good. There
wasn’t a single thing about that that was good.” Taken aback, I thanked Arlene and moved away. Jean Ann came up and said that
sometimes men can have trouble with rhythm. She asked me two times if I was able to hear the music. I said I heard it all right, though,
given my less than perfect hearing, I was suddenly not so sure. Jean Ann danced with me for a
minute or two, repeating “Slow quick-quick, slow quick-quick” until I finally started
moving to the beat. Even though
Katja told me as we left that I was doing fine, I felt terrible all the way
home. My new dancer self-image was
wobbly, to say the least.
At the beginning of the next
week’s class Arlene went out of her way to be pleasant, apparently trying to
make up for her prior abruptness.
I, on the other hand, responded by groveling. I said that I was a beginner, I’d never danced before, and I
didn’t know anything. I said that
I would appreciate any tips Arlene might have and that I would try to do my
best. Arlene commented that Rex,
the other male student, was taking the class for the fourth time, implying that
I shouldn’t feel bad about being so much worse than him. Jean Ann began teaching us some still
more complicated rumba steps, and, flustered and self-conscious from the
outset, I struggled the whole time.
At the end of the class Jean Ann asked how we all were doing, and I
said, “I got a C minus at best.” Jean Ann said, “Oh no, you are definitely
improving.” However, we both knew
that wasn’t true.
Despite my fantasies and
dreams, it looks like I’m not cut out for a professional dance career. When Donna discontinued line dancing,
she said ballroom dancing is a lot more fun because coordinating with a partner
is more challenging. I believe the
challenging part, for sure. Katja
and I will stick with our ballroom dancing class for another month, but now I’m
clear where my heart lies. In line
dancing you can be as awkward as you like, and nobody every criticizes anybody. I don’t think anybody even
notices. That seems like an ideal
arrangement. I’m eager for Monday
night to roll around.
Love,
Dave
*Pseudonyms used in this
story.
G-mail Comments
-Phyllis S-S
(10-27): Wow! Arlene is
taking this way too seriously. Hey Arlene, try to have some fun.
-JML
(10-25): K*** says: tell your dad
that it doesn't matter that Arlene tried to make it up to you. She is a b....h
and if I ever meet her I'm gonna kick her ass. I have nothing to add to this except that I really enjoyed
this blog
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