“Never give up” is my message, hidden in an almost-true story.
I never could dance. In seventh grade at Saint Cecilia Elementary School, I was forced into a dance class with real girls. The most basic dance was called the box step. I just made a square box while nervously holding on to Lana Thorpe, who had other ideas. Lana attempted to lead me out of my box into uncharted territories. It was not a pretty sight.
A few years later, Chubby Checker invented a dance called the twist. It was like trying to keep an oversized hula hoop afloat. The middle section of my body was not made for such contortions.
Things only got worse. Free-wheeling body movements in sync with grunge music were beyond my limited talents.
I gave up. For decades.
Then magic happened. Last week, an old Benny Goodman record dropped into my life from heaven. My body began to shake in extraordinary ways. I studied my almost-sexy moves in my living room’s full-length mirror. I was on fire. I’ve been secretly dancing ever since.
So, never give up. What if Lana Thorpe could see me now?
Angela and Clyde