The Dance Lesson

In my days when I was single, I belonged to an international folk-dance club in Ottawa. It was great fun. Most of the steps were quite simple. I was mimicking villagers of different cultures while I practised terpsichore. My soul was captured by the music while my body swayed as generations had done before.

Even though I thoroughly enjoyed my evenings, there was one slight problem. I wasn’t very good at it. Many dances had circles or lines. The experts were in the front or interior circle. The rest of us stumbled around in the back. It didn’t help that I laughed heartily when I made a mistake. Folk dancing was to be taken seriously, thank you.

Still, I had many friends in the back row. They could join me knowing that they would have no fear of being the worst one.

Then came a day I will never forget. With it came a lesson in life.

We were going to learn the polka. I had never done the polka. My only recollection of it was watching Lawrence Welk on television. The shot would change to members of his studio audience dancing the polka. I remember their heads bobbing up and down like kids on a pogo stick. Sometimes Lawrence or Bobby would join in. The only problem was that they never seemed to show what the feet were doing. What sort of footwork did I have to perform to produce the required head bob?

Fortunately, the instructor was an expert. All you had to do was move your feet this way, hop a bit and that was it. It was simple until I had a partner in my arms.

My first victim was one of the better dancers in the club. As we cavorted around the room, she gave me instructions along the way of what I should be doing to perform the dance correctly. And I did improve. However, when the dance was over, we both thanked each other very weakly and I tried to fade into the background.

That night there were not many males present. This meant I had another partner for the next polka. I didn’t know whether to apologize before we started, but I didn’t. We danced. I would like to say that I improved from my first attempt, but I didn’t. When you crash on your first attempt of riding a bicycle, the second try is often shakier. I felt the same way with the polka.

This woman was very different and I discovered very wise. She said, “You’re doing very well for the first time, but if you try this, I think you will enjoy the polka more.” What? She didn’t mind that I was trampling on her feet and kicking her in the shins? She could have been like the first partner and pointed out what I did wrong, but she didn’t. She praised me and encouraged me to try something that would help me, John Stevens, to enjoy dancing more. And like before, I did improve, however, this time when I strode from the dance floor, I strutted with attitude. Walter Ostanek, Canada’s Polka King, would have been proud of me.

What was the difference between the two dance partners? You figure it out. When you do, I’ll be on the sidelines waiting for the next polka to start.