Most of our married life, Carol and I have danced at events like weddings, new year’s eve, bar and bat mitzvahs. We have kind of invented our own way of doing things using steps from the foxtrot, lindy, cha cha and other assorted step. Because of the longevity of our relationship, over 55 years, we never minded much what steps we were doing.

A few weeks ago, Carol discovered that there were free ballroom dancing lessons to be had here in our corner of the universe of Sun City. Each Friday evening, there would be one hour’s worth of lessons and then “free dancing.” It sounded very interesting.

The price was right, about 10 bucks to join and a visitor’s fee for 6 dollars. We really didn’t know any one there. Evidently, we were the only people there that were first timers.

The instructor was a nice young woman with the patience of Job. She lined the men and women up across from each other and proceeded to explain the steps that she was going to teach us. First she demonstrated the steps for each of the genders. Remember that for every step that the woman makes, the man does the opposite and vice versa. There were also some steps that were different for each group.

After a while, a number of the people were proficient and the rest of us practiced till we could do the bare minimum. There was then a time for the men and women to get together. That began a series of steps that looked more like collisions than dancing. I must admit that I was not the most agile of the dancers. However we kept trying and finally felt that we were doing some semblance of the dance.

After we were separated, both the men and the women practiced the steps on their own. It was at that time, when leaning up against the stage a bit worn out from dancing, that I noticed a tiny gentleman to my left practicing the steps in some profound deliberate way.

Each of his steps ended with some kind of slap of his shoe. His performance was calculated to put him into a position where he looked like he was marching rather than dancing. He was so pointed in his movements, that I was entranced by his machinations and not his demeanor.

When he stopped once, I looked up at his face. He was the spitting image of Jeff Sessions. If he was a doppelganger, he sure was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had trouble looking at him after a while. I thought he might say something to me and I would have to respond by saying, “Yes sir Attorney General Sessions.”

He never looked up from his dancing. I also did not turn and look in his direction. It was too frightening. It was like having a dream during the day. I know that I am living in South Carolina, but during the ballroom dancing I thought I might be in Alabama in the 1950’s.




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