My parents’ hometown of Toccoa, Georgia is small… Very, very small. My parents and grandparents live there. And even
not counting them, there are some interesting characters in town. My dad attracts all of them and makes friends with them. One such friend is named Greg Austin. One day long ago when I was twelve, my dad and I made a surprise visit to his house.
I was feeling shy that day, probably because pre-puberty wasn’t treating me well. With my long stringy hair, teeth not yet straight, and hand-me-down baggy t-shirt, I was every inch the socially awkward homeschooler. But when I walked into the Austins’ house that day… things changed.
Mr. Austin is very tall with a mustache and a mop of grey hair. He welcomed us in by shouting “everyone put clothes on!” which drew laughter from the far parts of the house. I went in the living room and found a teenage boy sitting on the sofa with his button-down Hawaiian shirt open, strumming a guitar and singing. When he saw me, he remarked, “Oh! A young lady,” and dropped his guitar to button the shirt over his chest. I giggled. Being recognized as a lady, however young and androgynous I looked at twelve, made me feel like a princess.
Fast forward to the present day. I’m twenty-six and visiting my parents’ hometown on vacation… And my father was hosting a dance! Within the first five minutes I saw Mr. Austin’s grey mop bouncing toward me and greeted him. Of course, he’s a sanguine sort that meets many people and forgets most of them immediately, so I had to explain again who I was. By the time he had it figured it out, a cheerful young man in an Air Force uniform was leaning over his shoulder. “My son,” Mr. Austin explained, “Josiah.” Josiah winked at me and suddenly I remembered the boy buttoning up his shirt so long ago. I smiled back at him. “Will you be needing a dance partner?” Josiah asked boldly. “I’ll make sure there’s someone available.”
“Yes, I’d love that!” I said at once, forgetting I didn’t know how to dance.
“Done!” Josiah said, grinning.
My dad doesn’t know how to dance. “Watch out for that Austin boy,” he said, ignoring the fact that Josiah is now thirty-two. “He’s full of beans. He was jitterbugging with what’s-his-name’s daughter a few minutes ago.”
I mingled a while longer and then Josiah was back, sweating profusely and offering me his arm. “So I forgot to tell you. I don’t know how to dance,” I said, laughing.
“It’s okay!” He responded, wiping his forehead. “I was an entertainer and taught ballroom dance for years before I joined the Air Force.” And sure enough, he took my waist with confidence (I flashed back to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire: “Take my waist, Harry”) and led out.
Dancing, especially with a partner, is not one of those things you can overthink in life. If I tried to think, to figure it out, I froze up and we started to trip. If I let myself do what he already knew how to do so well, I started to pick up the steps a little. And then it was easy to enjoy the dance, the moment, the hurricane weather outside and this wonderful life.
Most guys don’t take the initiative to learn to dance. Even fewer feel confident asking a lady they don’t know onto the floor. I think Josiah and his kind should be at every dance, getting out on the floor and taking ladies with them, even and especially ladies who never learned and don’t usually.
Princes, take note: learn to dance and take some chances. You won’t be sorry.
-The Dauntless Princess-