Dancing fool

For years, I thought my brother and I were the only Cuban-Americans born without a dancing gene.  Together with my broken Spanish and mediocre baseball skills -- not to mention the very un-Cuban last name I began using when my mother remarried and our family moved from New York City to New Jersey -- my lack of dancing skills made me feel a lot less of a Cubano.

Not any more!

My good wife, disappointed at the prospect of seeing her husband a wallflower or an embarrassment on the dance floor during our eldest son's wedding, suggested last summer that we start taking dancing lessons.  I went along with the idea, figuring if nothing else it would be good exercise and a learning experience for us to share as we began living year-round in our Long Branch condo.

I soon realized that, unlike enjoying black beans with rice and a strong cup of cafe con leche, nothing about dancing came natural to this Cuban-American.  Whether it was a basic hustle, rumba, foxtrot, waltz, tango, cha cha or swing, my mind and body had difficulty getting in rhythm with the music.  I often had difficulty understanding our Russian-born dance instructor, although it had nothing to do with the accent with which she spoke her good English.  It had all to do because I was thinking too much and not just relaxing and letting go -- perhaps another of my very un-Cuban traits.

It took only a couple of months to get comfortable hustling, and more time (and money on semi-weekly lessons) to begin getting the basics of a few other dances.  My wife and I slowly began to guess with some accuracy which dance to do with particular songs, and more often than not we went home after our lessons satisfied with our progress.  Meanwhile, winter turned to spring and eventually summer began and our son's July 5 wedding arrived.

As soon as the DJ began to play at the wedding reception, my wife and I hit the dance floor.  To the surprise of some family members, we put on the hustle moves we learned while grinning ear-to-ear.  During the night, we also danced some basic swing and, at the very end, to Frank Sinatra's "New York New York," we did some promenades while very carefully navigating our foxtrot through a packed dance floor.   I also enjoyed dancing with my aunt and other family and friends, as did my wife -- who was surprised and thrilled to see her inspired father on the dance floor.

Now, we're looking forward to dancing at another wedding in less than two weeks.

It turns out my older Cuban-American brother still hasn't unleashed his dancing gene.  He mostly sat and watched during the wedding reception, as I have done many times.  His son, however, was a hit on the dance floor with an array of unique moves.  My two sons also danced up a storm.  In fact, the bridegroom's first dance with my new daughter-in-law was a very impressive result of some lessons the two of them took in preparation for their big day.  My brother and I and our wives are glad the dancing genes were quickly discovered by the next generation!