Notes From My Journal
Dancing at Emma’s Wedding
At Emma’s wedding last month, I couldn’t dance because my knee was f-ed up. And I like to dance.
I’m not a good dancer, but I have the ability to imagine myself to be one after two or three tequilas.
I took lessons once, which taught me how to hold and turn my partner, but I never mastered the movements from the hips down. I’m comfortable with slow dancing and versions of the swing – but when it comes to Latin dances, which depend so heavily on hip-foot coordination, I definitely need more training.
Antonio, a partner of mine in various businesses in Nicaragua, explained the problem to me. “You Gringos don’t move your hips. You only move your upper bodies. That makes you look stiff. We Latinos keep our upper bodies quiet while we move our hips.”
He demonstrated, and I could see what he meant. Hip-down vs. hip-up.
I tried to simulate his movements.
“No! No! That’s not it!”
He showed me again. I tried again. He shook his head.
He put his hand to his chin and thought a moment. Then his eyes lit up. He came over to me and held my head still between his big, meaty hands.
“Okay,” he said. “Now dance!”
I tried to dance, but I couldn’t. The best I could do was move my feet a bit, but my hips were frozen. Somehow, unable to move my head, I was also unable to move my hips.
“That’s what’s wrong with you Gringos,” he said.
I didn’t ask what he meant by that.
I would like to learn to dance better than I can because, as I said, I like to dance, and I intend to dance at the next family function.
But at 70, am I too old?