Progymnasmata

A memory. . . .

I was in fifth grade when I first learned to dance. I was a new kid. Our teacher was Mrs. Pilch. And we would go to Mr. Artist's class for formal instruction in the Texas two-step. We would watch several students demonstrate. For those who don't know, here it is:

Boys: right hand on the girl's waist.
Girls: right hand on the boy's shoulder.

Left hands together.

Then, in unison, with boy leading: forward, forward, back; forward, forward, back.


I was intensely nervous at these dances. Being a new kid at school, I didn't know anybody. Being shy, I feared rejection. This latter point is important because, as to the dictates of tradition:

the boys had to ask the girls to dance

This commitment -- asking "would you please do me the honor?" -- was more terrifying than the dance itself. I would rather hide. But really, being a bit of a narcissist, I'd rather have the girls as me to dance.

We did these dances often that year. Maybe monthly.

I remember the sweat on the girl's hands, the darkened classroom, the tile floors. And for every dance, the music was the same: a cassette tape of George Straight's greatest hits.

I heard my favorite song from that album on the radio the other morning: "Amarillo by Morning". I hadn't heard it in years.

Amarillo by Morning
Up from San Antone. . .
Everything that I got
Is just what I got on. . . .

I ain't got a dime,
but what I got is mine
I ain't rich
But Lord I'm free.

Forward, forward, back; forward, forward, back