The memory of that incident was ironic considering the woman sitting across the table was the reason I had taken that Religion class to begin with.  The Supernatural overtones which overshadowed our Parking Lot conversation had set the stage for my spiritual journey.  Having spent four years in college thinking about Mrs. Ballantyne, every nerve fiber was tingling with the desire to tell her why I believed our first meeting had been a Miracle.  I wanted to know if she agreed with me.  But I could not risk having Mrs. Ballantyne laugh in my face like the boys in the Religion class.  Which was a shame because the only reason we were together today had been yet another preposterous coincidental meeting at the dance studio.  Unwilling to open the door to a scary subject, I decided to stick to Reality. 

"Mrs. Ballantyne, I was damaged goods when I graduated from St. John's.  I would have greatly preferred an easier childhood.  However, where would I have been without St. John's?  The only reason I graduated with any sanity at all was due to your help and teachers who stepped forward to do the job my parents were incapable of.  These exceptional people gave of their heart without any expectation of reward.  However, there was only so much they could do.  I left St. John's with a sense of inferiority I could not shake."

"But Rick, you graduated as an Honor student.  You were fifth in a class of 50 smart students.  Why would you feel inferior?"

"Academically I could hold my own.  But socially I was a lost cause.  I was an only child who grew up without a clue how to make friends.  It did not help that I remained excluded from the social circles my classmates operated in."

"I did not know that, but it makes sense.  Did anyone bully you or insult you?"

"No, not really.  I suppose there were things said behind my back, but I do not recall a classmate ever saying an unkind word to my face.  Mostly they just left me alone."

"Did things improve in college?"

"No, things got worse.  College was tough.  The loneliness was oppressive.  I got my feelings hurt by a girl named Emily in my Freshman year and remained gun-shy after that.  I might add that going to an all-men's school made meeting girls very difficult.  I dated a little in my senior year, but mostly I kept to myself."

"That's interesting.  I rarely dated in college as well."

"Why was that?" I asked.

Mrs. Ballantyne laughed.  "I had the same problem as you.  I grew poor and did not have much self-esteem at the time.  I was too shy around boys, so mostly I hid from them."

I stared for a moment in disbelief.  How was it possible for the most vivacious, outgoing woman I had ever met to grow up shy?  I debated whether to ask a question, but decided to continue my story instead.

"For obvious reasons, I was drawn to psychology in search of solutions to my problems.  In the process I decided to become a therapist.  Although this was a noble ambition, it turned out I was unsuited for the role.  Graduate school was a disaster.  My issues with authority, my sensitivity to criticism and my sense of inferiority came back to haunt me.  One professor in particular focused a harsh spotlight on my mediocre interpersonal skills.  He threw me out after deciding I was too unhealthy to be of any use to society."

"What a terrible blow that must have been."

"Given my childhood problems, I suppose I should not have been surprised at my dismissal.  It hurts to admit, but given how screwed up I was, I suppose the professor made the right decision.  Nevertheless, I was beyond devastated.  My heart was in the right place.  If they had given me the same kind of second chance that Mr. Salls bestowed after I cheated, I very well could have rewarded their patience."

Mrs. Ballantyne smiled.  "That is quite a story, Rick.  So you owe your dance career to a cheating woman and a strange coincidence."

"Yes, but it wasn't easy.  Just my luck, I was a slow learner.  Fortunately, St. John's had taught me the value of persistence, so I continued despite my lack of progress.  Over the next three years, I took one lesson after another.  During this time I realized that my job as a social worker was going nowhere.  Seeking professional advice on what career to pursue, the lady I spoke to took a shine to me.  Over the next two years, we worked on my unresolved problems from graduate school.  One step at a time the chip on my shoulder began to heal.  At the same time as I was learning to dance, I was also growing up.

Last year my Disco line dance teacher got a surprise opportunity to spend the summer in Washington, D.C.  She knew I was not all that great a dancer, but since I knew her patterns like the back of my hand, I was the only person she knew to ask on short notice to substitute.  Four months ago I was asked to teach at the studio you met me at this morning.  On the same night I showed up for my first dance class, the owner offered me a modest part-time job teaching line dances to 10 people.  I did not ask for the job.  Nor was I very good at it.  Fortunately, however, the stakes were low.  We weren't talking "brain surgery" here.  Even a clod like me could teach line dancing without inflicting permanent damage.  I was funny and my students liked the class, so I plugged along in spite of my limitations.  But then came the bad news.  In December I was fired."

"Why were you fired?"

"The final class had only 5 people, so my boss assumed he didn't need a Disco class in the new year."

"Really?  How did you get your job back?"

"I got the luckiest break of my life.  In January Saturday Night Fever took the country by storm.  Overnight Disco students began calling his studio, so my boss changed his mind and brought me back.  Believe it or not, in the space of one month I was suddenly teaching every night of the week in addition to my day job.  Astonished by my sudden good fortune, I loved what I was doing so much, I told God I wanted to teach dance for the rest of my life."

We had just finished lunch and the maid had begun cleaning up.  When Mrs. Ballantyne rose from her chair, I took this as my cue that it was time to go.  However, to my surprise, I was wrong.

"Rick, are you in a hurry?  I would like to continue our conversation."

"Sure.  I have the rest of the day free."

"Good.  Let's go into the living room."

It was now 1 pm.  Over the next three hours, Mrs. Ballantyne proceeded to tell me her life story.