And now for a musical interlude

HELP! I CAN’T REMEMBER MY PASSWORDS

By Neil Offen
Columnist

Once, at a celebratory event, I found myself dancing with my young adult daughter. Afterward, as I was receiving oxygen, my daughter said she wanted to tell me something.

She prefaced her remarks by noting, “I mean this in the nicest way possible,” and then added, “but you are the worst dancer I’ve ever seen.”

I took it as a compliment. For once, I was the best at something musical, even if it was at being worst.

In fact, I was not surprised. I have known for some time that I have absolutely no abilities related in any way to any music.

It goes back to childhood. Instead of receiving piano lessons as a child, I got tap dancing lessons instead. Do you know how difficult it is dancing to a bugle playing “Taps”? And how inappropriate?

In elementary school, when the class sang “God Bless America,” I was told I was a “listener.” Then, I was told I was listening off-key.

When I launch into singing the romantic 1960s ballad “Surfin’ Bird” by the Trashmen in the shower, the water turns cold.

Once, during college, I tried to teach myself to play the guitar. After three years or so of practice, I discovered I was holding the guitar at the wrong end and blowing into it. 

I did, however, always believe I could dance, at least dance in the modern style. What’s there to it, after all? You get up on the dance floor, you shuffle your feet around a little, making sure you’ve taken the taps off the shoes. Then you move your arms a bit up and down like you’re driving a bumper car at an amusement park.

You move with the music, bop to the beat and try not to bump into people, particularly if they are wearing high heels and want revenge.

You bob your head, you jiggle your shoulders, you wiggle your hips and you put a casual, relaxed look on your face like you couldn’t care less even though you care so much because you’ve been practicing all these movements since you were 12.

Then, after two minutes and thirty seconds or so, you’re done, ready for the oxygen. Pretty easy.

But ever since I had that little conversation with my daughter, I have been reluctant to get back on the dance floor and wiggle and jiggle. I have been, I guess, a little self-conscious and not willing to risk my title as worst dancer ever.

Then, recently, I did it. A friend’s band was playing and other people were dancing. Many of them looked old enough to remember The Trashmen.

I applied my couldn’t-care-less-look to my face and began wiggling and jiggling. I moved to the music and bopped to the beat. All around the dance floor, people gathered to watch and to urge me to try taking up the guitar again.

Carrboro resident Neil Offen has been a humor columnist for four decades and on two continents. He is the author of “Building a Better Boomer,” available wherever books are sold.
This reporter can be reached at Info@TheLocalReporter.press