Well, I for one sure couldn’t! Mind you, I was only 13, it was 1958, so whaddya want, right? Well. At the community group ‘youth’ dances which I started attending, hoping to meet a [Good grief! What was my rush?!] boyfriend, dancing was a necessity… unless you wanted to spend a couple of hours holding up the wall.
So one Saturday afternoon, tired of standing on the sidelines while my absolute-fave song That’ll Be the Day by my heartthrob, Buddy Holly, was playing, and everyone was dancin’ away, I got up my nerve and asked a girl I sort of knew – she seemed nice – to show me how to jitterbug (Substitute: jive, swing, whatever term you prefer).
She took the time and taught me, bless her. I happily danced like crazy, albeit only with her, but at least I now had a little confidence to go along with a few reliable steps.
Not too long after that, I was invited to a house party by another 13-year-old, a boy! Ooh-la-la! 😀 I totally don’t recall how [or why!] on earth my normally-very-conservative parents gave me permission to go on this little date. I can only assume they knew the parents of the boy and the parents of the girl in whose finished basement this party took place. Oh, it was all on the up-and-up. Don’t let your imaginations run away with you.
My point, and I did have one, is that thanks to my young date, I learned how to cha-cha. I was so proud of myself; I must’ve been insufferable!
A year or so after that came slow dancing. Now there was something my parents [especially Dad!] could’ve got worked up about. If they’d known [heh, heh].
And that’s where my dance moves stopped. I never quite got the hang of Latin stuff. Even line dancing makes me dizzy. Which way?! Which way?!
Sometimes I wish I was young again, to relive those days. But only the good parts. 😉