Dance, Baby, Dance

The year before I had symptoms of ALS, I tried to  teach myself to dance. I’ve written earlier about my inability to sing. In addition to that deficit, I have no rhythm. I clap off beat. I’m very stiff in my shoulders, so I can’t do the thing with relaxing my shoulders like people who have moves do.  

I took ballroom dancing lessons over thirty years ago with my boyfriend at the time. I love ballroom dancing, because it has steps. No improvising required, plus stiff shoulders are not a disadvantage in many ballroom dances. I learned the foxtrot (slow, slow, quick, quick), the rumba (quick, quick, slow),  the waltz (One, two, three, One, two, three), and the swing (slow, slow, quick, quick – but not the same direction or  tempo as the foxtrot). Moreover, I’m great at following if my partner is a good leader. Or so I thought. 

When I went to my 25th college reunion, I planned that I would go to the swing dance club’s event. The swing dance club wasn’t there in my day. I told myself that if I made a fool of myself, it didn’t matter, because I would never see those people again. (All of my college friends were in different years from me, so they weren’t there.) 

It was good that I had low expectations of myself. I participated in the lesson offered prior to the dance, and I saw that this group started with the rock back (quick, quick) steps, which was different from how I learned. After the lesson, a recent graduate asked me if I wanted to dance. I warned him that it had been a long time since I had danced. We got off to a good start. Then he made the mistake of saying, “you remember!” That was all it took to throw me off. I didn’t get back the rhythm for the rest of the song. When the same guy was looking for someone to dance with later on, I offered to dance, and he just walked away. 

Someone else asked me to dance, and I reluctantly accepted. I was a mess. After the song ended, I asked him if he wanted to continue. He backed away from me, waving both hands, as if warding me away. I spent the rest of the event having an enjoyable conversation with the parents of a current graduate. 

Later that spring I was at a bar mitzvah reception with my kids, and the last song the deejay played was Pete Townshend’s Let My Love Open the Door. I danced with Max, and I hummed it all the way home. That song brings me joy to this day, because whenever I hear it, I feel the same giddiness I felt when I danced on that day.

That night I embarked on a quest to develop rhythm. I somehow found a website called I Hate to Dance, which was perfect. Its intended audience is men who dread dancing, but it’s for anyone who is rhythmically challenged. The website starts with the basics: feeling the beat, clapping on the up beat, etc. It goes on to teach how to do several types of dances that one is likely to need on various occasions. Most notable for me is the fact that the website teaches a survival tip for any dance:  a simple step to the side, feet together, and repeat to the other side, all on the beat. I practiced over and over again. I also taught Max and his best friend how to do the Electric Slide and the Macarena. We had so much fun! 

Now my arms and legs are paralyzed. My dancing days are behind me, but I’m still using the I Hate Dancing website, and I dance in my head whenever I listen to my dancing playlist. I’m going to be ready for the great beyond or my next life. As my favorite choreographer, Bob Fosse, said, “It’s showtime!”