JANUARY 1976, the lost years, Age 26 ROBERTA

It is January 1976.  Becky's December announcement that she was quitting had caught me totally flat-footed.  I had expected to pine for her over Christmas, then ask her out when class resumed.  But Becky was gone just when I was getting braver.  Oh great, so much for that fantasy.  My shame deepened with the knowledge I had made essentially the same mistake with Becky that I had made with Katie.  Both women had shown interest and both times I had failed to act.  When would I ever conquer my fear? 

I was grouchy over my lost opportunity with Becky, but all was not lost.  Maybe there was another Becky out there.  If so, the best place to find the next Becky would be at another dance class.  Meanwhile, has anyone noticed that every failure led to my next Stepping Stone?   Celeste had humiliated me.  Infuriated, I signed up for Katie's Ballroom class to prove to myself I was not as bad at dancing as Phoney Baloney dance studio had made me feel.  Just my bad luck that Jack sabotaged my chance with Katie.  Hoping against hope I might track down Katie, I took the Sundry School line dance class which led me to Becky.  So close and yet so far. 

Of course, since I had no idea where this dance path was headed, it never dawned on me that each missed opportunity was guiding me to my next Stepping Stone.  And so I continued to walk blind and backwards on the slow path to my eventual dance career.

These missed opportunities demonstrates how my Alice in Wonderland scenario worked.  Each time something went wrong with my latest fantasy girl, I would sign up for another dance class.  However, there was one important change.  I liked Becky's class.  It was fun being one of the best dancers.  I was not 'excellent' as I had once promised God in my Leap of Faith, but I was headed in the right direction.  Now that Becky had restored my interest in becoming a better dancer, it was time to look for another class and hopefully meet my newest Miss Direction. 

One day I noticed a January Disco line dance course in a new adult education program titled St. Thomas Courses a la Carte.  The University of St. Thomas was located in the Montrose area just a few blocks from my apartment.  Wouldn't it be nice to be able to walk to my next dance class? 

When I got my receipt in the mail, I noticed the location had been switched from the St. Thomas campus to a dance studio called Stevens of Hollywood instead.  At first I was irritated, but when I realized the new location was only a mile further, I decided to take the class. 

My new line dance class was a serious disappointment.   I took one look at my teacher and doubted I was going to learn much.  Age 40, Roberta did not look the part of a dance teacher.  She was a matronly woman who wore a preposterous 5 inch wide belt to disguise her thick waist.  I'm sorry, but after staring at Becky's Centerfold body for the past four months, I had no enthusiasm to watch this woman dance.

Steven's wife Cliann, 36, was a beauty, but in a scary, imposing way.  Cliann was a dead ringer in looks and figure for TV celebrity Elvira, the campy, curvy, self-described Mistress of the Dark.  Cliann was wearing all black with a short skirt.  Her form-fitting leotard top accentuated her movie-star curves while her teased-up black hair stood in striking contrast to Steven's puffed-up white pompadour. 

Cliann was nearly as tall as her husband.  With an hourglass figure, all-black outfit, and thick jet-black hair, Cliann was a sight to behold.  Unfortunately, there was something ominous about the lady.  Her tight-lipped frown hinted at unhappiness.  She struck me as a femme fatale capable of wreaking disaster on any man foolish enough to come near.  Look, but don't touch. 

While Elvira had a fetching smile which enhanced her seductive desirability, Cliann's scowl suggested she was the true Mistress of the Dark.  Cliann was a mesmerizing dancer.  She reminded me of a sleek black panther.  As long as there was a safe distance between us, I could not take my eyes off this statuesque beauty with her sensuous movements. 

The Whip turned out to be a sexy relative to a better-known dance called West Coast Swing.  Whip looked best when it was used to Blues music.  However, it would also work to Disco and Rock.  Stevens and Cliann danced to Brick House.

Ow, she's a brick house, She's mighty-mighty, just lettin' it all hang out
That lady's stacked and that's a fact, Ain't holding nothing back

Well put-together, everybody knows, This is how the story goes
She knows she got everything, that a woman needs to get a man, yeah, yeah
How can she lose with the stuff she use, 36-24-36, oh what a winning hand

I could see why Stevens had chosen this particular song.  The lyrics described Cliann's measurements to perfection.  The Whip featured a woman's hip motion.  Beguiled by Cliann's sinuous, provocative hip rolls, I felt an immediate stirring.  Women who were this good-looking should not be allowed to move like that in public.  Given my arousal, I was very interested in the Whip.  I had never seen partner dancing like this before.  It was a huge improvement over that snooty Ballroom dancing.  Plus I liked the feel of the nasty blues music.  Although the Whip looked complicated to learn, it was a serious turn-on to see a provocative woman like Cliann perform it. 

February 1976, the lost years

THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

I did not return to Roberta's class the following week.  In addition to my embarrassment after my rude behavior was exposed, I doubted there was anything Roberta could teach me.  However I did not forget the Whip demonstration.  I would have signed up for Stevens' upcoming Whip class except that I was certain Roberta would spot me.  That was a situation I preferred to avoid, so I filed the memory away for the future. 

My date with Caitlin was promising at first, but it ended on a sour note.  We had just returned to Caitlin's apartment from a movie and she invited me in.  For some reason, Caitlin insisted on teaching me some weird partner dance she had learned up at Texas A&M University.  I was unaware at the time, but Country-Western dancing was very popular at A&M, probably because many of its students were from rural Texas where this style originated. 

Known as the 'Texas Twostep', it was ridiculously easy, even for me.  The dance was based on six beats of music.  I took a sideways step to my left (1), then tapped with my right foot (2).  I took a sideways step to my right (3) and tapped with my left foot (4).  Then I took two walking steps forward, left, then right (5,6).  After that we repeated the pattern over.  And over.  And over.  Good lord, this has to be the most boring dance I've seen in my life.  Making matters worse, I was incredulous to discover Caitlin adored this dance. 

Caitlin exclaimed, "The two walking steps forward is where the Twostep gets its name!" 

Oh really?  The name of our state plus two steps forward.  Texas Twostep.  Wow, what a clever name!  I nodded to be polite, but privately thought this had to be the dumbest dance I had ever learned.  The next thing I knew, Caitlin put my arm around her back and off we went.  We traveled in a circle around furniture in the living room.  Noticing the convenient path, I assumed I was not the first man to be seduced by the power of the Texas Twostep. 

I will say one thing.  I did enjoy having my arm around Caitlin.  However, before my impure thoughts achieved any momentum, her younger sister Bonnie came home.  Bonnie took one look and exclaimed, "Ah, that's the Texas Twostep!" 

Without hesitation, Bonnie walked over to the stereo set and put on a song called 'The Door' by George Jones.   The song told the story of a former soldier who, despite being haunted by horrible memories from Vietnam, confesses that he was even more traumatized by the sound of the door closing when the woman he loved walked out on him.   Forgive me for being blunt.  The twang in this song offended my Disco-attuned ears to a degree I never knew possible.  Due to my intense dislike of the music as well as the overly-simplistic Twostep, I wanted nothing to with Country-Western dancing.

Making matters worse, Caitlin insisted we dance to the entire song.  Round and round we went.  We passed the couch, the dinner table, the stereo system, and the coffee table ad nauseum.  As if that wasn't bad enough, Bonnie put the song on again and insisted I dance with her too.  After eight consecutive minutes of 'Step-touch, Step-touch, Walk Walk', I thought I would lose my mind.  The entire time I kept thinking the Texas Twostep would NEVER replace Disco Dancing.  Remind me AGAIN never to say never.  Unfortunately, we will have to wait for my next book to get this story.

Just then I realized the nearby Jewish Community Center was still open.  While it was true I wanted a girlfriend in the worst way, even I had my limits.  I bid the ladies goodnight and disappeared into the darkness never to be seen again.  Ten minutes later I was playing basketball.  And so Caitlin became Epic Victim #16. 

When I told that story to Gaye, she bust a gut.  I don't think Gaye was much of a fan of Country-Western music.  However, to my surprise, her expression suddenly changed when I said I was not going to see Caitlin again.  Uh oh.  Here it comes.  What is worse, listening to Western music or facing the music with Gaye?

"Do you refuse to go out with that young lady again simply because she likes country-western music?"

"Give me a break, Gaye.  You have no idea how bad that music was.  I could not stand another minute of it.  And the dancing was beyond stupid.  If that is Caitlin's idea of fun, I am going to have to pass."

"But you said you met her in a Disco class."

"Yeah, but Caitlin said she hated the class and wasn't going back."

"You said you hated the class too."

"Yes, but for a different reason.  I couldn't stand the teacher, Caitlin couldn't stand the music."

"So if I hear you correctly, you are giving up on this girl simply because you don't like her music.  You're not giving Caitlin much of a chance."

"You're probably right, I plead guilty to being superficial.  But I have spent the past two years dancing to Disco music and I guess I'm not very open-minded about C&W music.  I feel the same way about Ballroom music.  I'll tell you what, you try listening to that song and see what you think.  It reminded me of a joke I heard.  You want to hear it?"

Gaye smiled.  "Sure, go for it."

"Two criminals are sentenced to die the same day.  The warden grants both a last wish.  The first guy says, 'I want you to play Yer Cheatin' Heart by Hank Williams over the sound system.  The second guy says, 'In that case, I want to die first.'"

Gaye did not smile... but I'm sure she wanted to.  Instead Gaye replied, "Rick, I have a question.  Did you like this young lady?"

I groaned.  Anytime Gaye started with "Rick", I knew I was going to suffer.  Today was no exception.  I replied, "Caitlin was okay, but she'll never make me forget Katie." 

Gaye rolled her eyes in mild protest at my tepid effort.  Fortunately, she left it at that.  Ah, what a relief.  No bloodshed today.  But I got her point.  Gaye was trying her best to educate me on women.  Thanks to Gaye, I was slowly gaining some courage.  She understood my Phobia quite well.  It was her theory that I was a good person who hid behind a wall of thorns.  I turned into a Porcupine whenever threatening women entered the picture.  That is when my dark side kicked in.  I became touchy, obnoxious, arrogant and insensitive.  Gaye understood this was my way of protecting my feelings, but added there had to be a better way to handle my fear of rejection.

My relationship with Gaye was the main reason I began to take small risks with dating.  My tattered love life acted as our laboratory.  Each new mishap became a training exercise.  I would screw things up and Gaye would coach me through my latest mistake.  Spread across 1976 were 14 short-term relationships, none of which I would remember if I hadn't written the names down.  One lady lasted an entire month, but the rest were one or two dates like Caitlin.  There was a reason they didn't last long.  As always, I avoided speaking to any woman who made my pulse race, Becky or Katie for example.  By avoiding challenging women, I reduced my fear of being rejected.  By playing it safe, I could hit the Exit Door at the first sign of trouble.  I was just going through the motions, never really attempting to get close to one of these women.  Whenever that certain stirring arose, I would visit Gloria.  Thanks to Gloria, I had no need to take my short-term relationships seriously.  Her presence allowed me to chase one Miss Direction after another, then complain to Gaye afterwards.  And so the Epic Losing Streak continued.

April 1976, the lost years patsy Swayze

I did not visit a Disco once in 1976.  The memory of Katie at Melody Lane had something to do with that.  I still had a gaping hole in my heart for her.  Or maybe it was my crushing failure to ask Becky out when I should have.  Still too afraid to approach girls I did not know at a dance club, I found other ways to meet girls that were easier. 

That said, I wanted to continue my dance lessons.  Unfortunately, despite phone calls to several different dance studios, try as I might I could not find another Disco class.  Each studio said Ballroom was all they had to offer.  No thanks, I'll pass.  Oh well, I guess my Dance Path has reached the end of the line.  Yeah, right.  I should have known better by now.  God was going to make sure I learned to dance whether I liked it or not.

One day in April, I saw a jazz dance company perform on stage at a Houston outdoor festival.  The dancers were pretty teenage girls who moved like seasoned pros.  Once I noticed how similar Jazz Dancing was to Disco Dancing, I was instantly hooked.  I wanted to learn to move like that, so I asked one of the girls where she had learned to dance.

The young lady said this was the Houston Jazz-Ballet Company.  She added the dance company was trained by a lady named Patsy Swayze... yes, Patrick's mother.  But I did not know that at the time.  I liked how this jazz dancing looked.  In addition to the fancy footwork, jazz dance included moving the hands, hips, and shoulders in a coordinated, very attractive way.  I imagined if I could learn to jazz dance, it would surely help me become a better Freestyle Disco dancer. 

On the spot, I decided to take a jazz class.  I called the studio the next day.  Patsy herself answered the phone.  Patsy explained that in addition to training her dance company, she also taught jazz classes for adults.  That was what I wanted to hear.  Sign me up.  The following week I began taking Beginner Adult Jazz classes at Patsy's studio every Friday at 6 pm.  

It is important to note I took this class of my own volition.  During my 'Backwards Phase', my tragic love life was responsible for guiding me to each new dance opportunity.  Now that dancing had entered my blood stream, a sense of ambition returned for the first time in ages. 

They say when the pupil is ready, the master will appear.  With that in mind, I find it very curious the same moment my ambition returned, Patsy showed up as well.  Patsy Swayze became the teacher who put the finishing touch on my Freestyle dancing.  I loved the way Patsy taught, so I took lessons from her for over a year.  Patsy was full of enthusiasm and encouragement.  I remember the first piece of advice she ever gave me - "Rick, suck in your tummy when you dance!"  Apparently I had a tendency to slouch when I danced.  I think my problem was caused by a slight curvature of the spine.  Once, Patsy's suggestion alerted me to the problem, I made sure to be more conscious of my posture.  This was my first clue why Patsy was considered a master teacher.  Patsy knew how to help people look their best when they danced.

Patsy took a shine to me right from the start.  Apparently Patsy admired my stubborn work ethic.  Although I did not pick up Patsy's jazz moves very fast, I refused to give up.  Like many great teachers, Patsy's heart went out to the ones who might not have the most talent, but tried hard anyway.  She got a kick out of my persistence despite constant frustration.  Although Jazz dancing was considerably tougher than Disco line dances, I enjoyed myself.  It was challenging, but that is what I wanted.  I liked what I was learning.  The tricky footwork was indeed a definite boon to my Freestyle dancing.  I learned all sorts of clever footwork combinations.  Jazz square, about face turn, pirouette, pas de bourree, kick ball change.   Patsy taught me how to move my body and use my hands for dramatic effect, an element completely missing in Line Dancing.  I started visiting the Magic Mirror again to practice and appreciate the improvement.

Considering I admired Patsy so much, I nursed a secret desire to join her dance company.  However, I knew it was a long shot.  One problem was my age.  At 26, I was considerably older than the high school girls who formed the bulk of her dance company.  In addition I could see my skill level was at least three cuts below the level of the two young men who were on the dance team.  On the other hand, they obviously needed more men.  I imagined my broad shoulders would come in handy for lifting those tiny girls high in the air like I had once lifted Becky.  How much did I need to improve to join them?  I decided to find out.  Well aware my skill level was not ready yet, I took the intermediate step of getting to know Patsy better.  She had always been so encouraging about my dancing.  Sensing a growing rapport, one day in June I came early to the dance studio at 5 pm.  As I expected, Patsy was in her office.  Noting she didn't seem busy, I asked if she would like to join me for coffee.  There was a coffee shop a couple doors down in the same strip center.  Patsy was surprised, but to my delight, she agreed to go with me.  I was tickled pink at Patsy's big smile.

"What a great idea!  No one ever takes me to coffee, Rick.  Maybe I won't pick on you as much tonight.  On second thought, maybe I will pick on you extra.  Coffee makes me feisty!"

Patsy and I really hit it off over coffee.  In retrospect, I suppose it was kind of odd.  What was I thinking?  I doubt seriously Patsy had many students go out of their way to strike up a friendship.  Why would this accomplished, busy woman want to have coffee with me?  In addition, I wondered why Patsy warmed up to me so quickly.  Perhaps you might have guessed.   It turns out I reminded Patsy of her son Patrick who was off performing in New York.  Patsy missed Patrick a lot, so without much trouble I slipped into a role as half-substitute son, half-student, half-friend.  Yeah, I know, my math is off.  Deal with it. 

During the summer, 5 pm coffee became a once-a-month tradition.  That was how I got to know Patsy as a friend.  As a social worker, I had the freedom to set my own schedule to make home visits.  On the day I had jazz class, I would deliberately finish a home visit around 4:30 pm.  Rather than head back to the office, I would drive directly over to Patsy's studio.  I would drop in at 5 pm and ask Patsy if she wanted to have coffee.  Since her Introductory Adult Jazz class started at 6 pm, this gave us 45 minutes to talk.

Patsy always had a smile for me.  She began to look forward to my visits.  It was fun to take a break before her long evening of classes.  One afternoon Patsy surprised me by saying I had an uncanny way of reminding her of her son.  Patrick Swayze was not yet a household name, so I had no idea who Patsy was talking about.  Patsy was 49 at the time, Patrick was 23, three years younger than me.  Patsy said I could be Patrick's brother.  We had the same height, same build and we were about the same age.  Apparently we also had the same smart-aleck personality.  I asked Patsy to tell me about him. 

Patsy said Patrick had grown up in her dance studio.  Patrick had been her dance student from the moment he could walk.  I asked Patsy why I hadn't met Patrick yet.  With a wistful smile, Patsy replied, "Oh, Patrick is off seeking his fame and fortune.  Patrick is in New York.  He is performing in Grease on Broadway as we speak."

I had never heard of Grease.  I smiled and naively commented, "Boy, that must really make you proud, Patsy.  What role does he play?  Is Patrick one of the backup dancers?"

Big mistake.  Her face contorted into a Mother Bear urge-to-kill look.  Patsy was so incredulous at my ignorance, I was lucky she didn't stab my hand with a fork.

"Hell no, you dummy!!  Where have you been?  Patrick is the star!  He is making a name for himself on Broadway and who knows what might come next!  He's only 23.  The sky's the limit!"

I never made that mistake again.  Now that I knew how important Patrick was to his mother, I made sure to ask Patsy for more details about her famous son.  This was a surefire way to get the conversation rolling. 

One day, Patsy exclaimed, "Rick, it is uncanny.  You really do remind me of Patrick.  You can be so sarcastic sometimes.  Patrick is the exact same way!  Patrick says some really wicked things."

I grinned.  "Gosh, Patsy, if I am so similar to Patrick, does my dancing remind you of him too?"

Now Patsy grinned.  "Oh, tough one, uh, probably not."  We both laughed.  I really liked Patsy and didn't mind letting her tease me.  In a manner similar to my therapist Gaye, she was Mom, teacher and friend all rolled into one.

I am sorry to say I never got the chance to meet Patrick.  However, I learned quite a bit about Patrick from listening to Patsy describe him.  Patrick was nicknamed 'Buddy' or 'Little Buddy' after Big Buddy, his father.

I had no idea what Patrick looked like, so one day I asked.  Patsy's eyes lit up.  Swelling with pride, Patsy revealed how big and handsome her son was.  Patsy was quick to say that Patrick was a serious high school heartthrob.  Her son was such a hunk, enrollment in her dance company tripled thanks to all the teenage girls who wanted to get near him.  Indeed, one of the girls Patsy taught was Lisa Niemi, the lovely woman Patrick would later marry.  Patrick met Lisa in his mother's dance company.

One day I got nosy and asked if Patrick dated much considering how well his mother kept the hen house stocked.  Patsy grinned, "Oh, hell, no!  Patrick was chomping at the bit to date every one of them, but I kept him too busy for his own good."

During high school, Patrick kept a busy schedule indeed.  Patsy made sure to schedule her dance company rehearsals around his football practice, his track practice and karate lessons. 

"Patrick went to Waltrip High School a few blocks down the street from my studio.  Every afternoon, Patrick would finish a strenuous two hour football practice, then race over to the studio.  He would practice dance for two more hours deep into the evening, then we would go home together and he would do his homework.  The poor boy was surrounded by all those cute girls wearing their crush on their sleeves, but Patrick was too tired to do anything about it.  Even if he found the energy, where would he find the time?  It drove him nuts!  I did feel a little sorry for him, but not much."

"I am curious about something.  Was Patrick ever bullied for being a dancer?"

"Funny you should ask that question.  The answer is yes."

Apparently when Patrick was 12, someone at his school found out Patrick grew up taking classes at his mother’s dance studio.  That pegged Patrick as a major sissy.  One day, five boys jumped him and beat Patrick up pretty badly.

When Patsy and her husband Big Buddy learned what had happened, they were infuriated.  Patsy's inclination had been to go to the school and tell the principal, but her husband, a onetime rodeo champion and Golden Gloves boxer, thought otherwise.  He began to teach his son how to fight.  In addition, Patsy took her son and placed him in a martial arts class.  Two months later, Big Buddy decided it was time.  He went with Patrick to see the football coach and told him about the incident and how his son was still being bullied. 

Patrick's father and the coach were old friends.  The coach agreed to pull the five boys out of P.E. class and let Patrick confront them with the coach doing supervision.  That same afternoon, the coach took the five boys to the weight room where Patrick was waiting for them.  The coach told the five boys to settle this thing once and for all.  Except the coach insisted on a wrinkle... the boys would have to fight Patrick one at a time.  Take a quick guess how that worked out.  Thanks to his father's training, Patrick had no trouble handling each boy.  Strangely enough, there would be more fights as Patrick grew older.  There was just something about seeing a boy with ballet shoes that put a target on Patrick's back.  However, as Patsy put it, Patrick beat the crap out of every challenger, so she stopped worrying about it.

"So your husband taught Patrick to fight.  Did that solve the problem?"

"More or less.  But the biggest problem I had was keeping Patrick out of sports."

One thing Patsy demanded was that Patrick 'dance like a man'.  I don’t know how someone would teach this, but there was certainly nothing effeminate about the way Patrick Swayze moved.  This was an era when any man who danced well was assumed to be gay.  However, Patsy got her wish.  Her son had a virile style of dancing that captivated audiences in Dirty Dancing.  The women absolutely swooned at his combination of grace and masculinity.  I admit to being envious as the women screamed throughout the movie.

Patsy smiled broadly as she shared that story with me.  I could see how proud she was of her talented son.  Patsy added one more thing. She said her son's positive attitude was a big key to his success.  His work ethic was what landed him this huge role on Broadway.  At the time, Patsy had no idea of the eventual fame that would come to Patrick.  However, when Patrick did achieve worldwide fame in the Eighties, I knew better than anyone that his mother had been responsible for giving him the greatest foundation a son could ask for. 

When Patsy wasn’t talking about Patrick, she liked to talk about her dance company.  She took great pride in her role as a teacher.  These were the days before HSPVA (High School for Performing and Visual Arts).  Similar to the movie 'Fame', HSPVA was an invitation-only public school established here in Houston to train future dance professionals.  Before HSPVA came along, Patsy Swayze was Houston's to go-to teacher.  Due to her reputation, practically every aspiring teenage dancer came to her for advanced training.  Patsy knew some of these kids hoped to be professional dancers someday.  Due to her sense of responsibility, she took her job very seriously.

Patsy liked to discuss issues related to running her dance studio.  Patsy said it wasn't easy to pay all the bills since jazz and ballet students were not in great abundance.  Plus she hated all the distractions that came from running a business.  If Patsy had her way, she would teach jazz all day long and never answer the phone.  Patsy definitely preferred being an artist to being a businesswoman.  Of course I had no way of knowing, but Patsy was giving me advice about running a dance studio that would one day come in handy.

At this stage, owning a dance studio never crossed my mind.  Nor did I give any thought to teaching.  All I wanted to do was join Patsy's dance company.  That was my big goal.  With that in mind, I decided to nibble at the edges of this dream.  One day over coffee I brought up my frustration over my lack of natural dance ability.  I mentioned how slowly Freestyle had come to me and my struggles with Ballroom dancing.  Now I was struggling with this tricky jazz dancing.  My frustration grew when Patsy gave me permission to watch one of her dance company rehearsals.  It was irritating to notice how quickly these moves came to the kids in her company.  I asked Patsy if she could guess why this stuff was so difficult for me, but so easy for them.  In other words, why am I such a slow learner?

Patsy was supportive, but frank as well. 

"Of course I have noticed you have trouble picking up dance moves quickly.  My guess is that you are probably too analytical.  I have learned that some people take more time to acquire dance skills because they have to think about what they are doing all the time.  The kids in my company have an instinct that allows them to see a move and instantly copy it.  But not you.  People like you see a move, think about it, try it seven different ways, then eventually figure it out.  By that time, the dance prodigies are already onto the next move.  Don't be so hard on yourself.  This doesn't mean you are inept, it just means you don't have the gift.  You are a good dancer, Rick, just not as good as someone like my son.  Not everyone is meant to be a performing dancer just like not everyone is meant to be a brain surgeon.  Find your talent and develop it."

I understood.  Patsy had confirmed something I had come to believe myself.  When it came to dancing, my over-active brain was always getting in the way.  I accepted that I was a slow learner and there wasn't much I could do to change that.  However, even a turtle makes progress.  Now that I had been dancing non-stop for two years, I was becoming a fairly good dancer.  But was I good enough to join Patsy's company?  In early October I finally worked up the courage to pop the question.   I hoped Patsy would say I was good enough to join her dance company. 

"Patsy, how long will it take me to become a top-flight jazz dancer?  I would like to join your dance company someday."

Patsy smiled at me, then reached across the table to clasp my hand.  I think she had suspected my fondest hope for some time. 

"Rick, you know I love you.  You try as hard as any student I have ever had.  But hard work can only take you so far.  To excel in my world, you have to bring natural ability to the party in addition to a work ethic.  Plus in your case you got such a late start.  Most of the kids in my company started with me in grade school as toddlers.  I encourage you to pursue your dance dreams, but I think you might want to reserve jazz performing for another lifetime."

In other words, my learning curve was too slow to pursue the highest levels in the World of Dance.  I could not pick up moves fast enough to justify the time and effort necessary to become a performing dancer.  Oh well.  I wasn't mad.  Deep down I knew Patsy was right.  In fact, she had let me down about as gracefully as possible.  Performing at dance just wasn't in the cards.  In a sense, Patsy did me a favor.  I had to know if there was any hope of joining her dance company.  Although she didn't enjoy disappointing me, by closing the door on a hopeless idea, Patsy set me free me to look in another direction.  Gosh, I wonder what might that be?