Dancing

I'm told that back in the jazz age my grandfather criticized the shameless way young people danced, and his wife reminded him that when he was young he'd danced in a graveyard once!

About 15 years ago I took ballroom dancing lessons at the Arthur Murray studio in the Royal York neighborhood, for about a year.  It cost a fortune, but I had a pretty good time.  

My instructor most of the time was Cynthia, and we got along pretty well. (She came from New Brunswick, like me.) Sometimes she wore a maple-scented body cream that made her smell like maple syrup!  Whenever she offered criticism, she'd call me "sweetie." I liked the way she smiled when I did it right.  When I did something particularly well, she'd ask, "How did that feel?" I resisted the temptation to answer, "I have a shrink to ask me how I feel!"

I learned dances like waltz, rhumba and salsa.  Swing was the hardest:  small steps just don't come naturally to me!  Since the man takes the lead that gives him a responsibility:  if the woman doesn't make the right steps, that means he isn't leading her clearly enough.  Posture is very important too, and I found that when I wasn't sure what to do that affected my posture.

Cynthia said I'm a gentleman, which meant a lot to me.  The students and instructors would have these dancing parties every week, and I'd make an effort to dance with every woman in the place.  When there was a new girl, I'd dance with her first.  I did things that way not so much to be a gentleman; I have Asperger's Syndrome, and if I hadn't had a scheme like that I couldn't have decided whom to dance with at all!

Sometimes a couple would take lessons together, then at the parties they'd only feel comfortable dancing with each other.  I felt sorry for them:  half the fun is from dancing with a whole lot of people!