Now, before some of you readers mockingly ask “Isn’t all swing geriatric”, let me just look at you with arrogant sarcasm and say “Haaa…ha.” I wouldn’t normally post something like this, but it has a certain amount of charm, and it’s just a cute little experience I had.

A friend of mine asked me to help her out tonight. She was asked by a friend of hers who holds some high up position, let’s call her the director even if she isn’t, at the local Masonic Home to come to their Valentine’s dance to cut a rug (or at least gently poke at it) with some of the residents. We were told the band was pretty good, and neither of us has any significant other to speak of, so we went. Not together, so get that out of your head. (She could be my mother, for crying out loud!)

The band was pretty good, I have to say. But the best part was the old people. When I say old, I’m not talking like 50. I’m not even talking 60. Shoot, I’m not even talking 70. The average age at this place is 85, according to the director. It was really fun. When I got there, the director said that there were a bunch of residents that loved to dance, but they were in wheelchairs or walkers. I’ve danced with women in their 80s before, but they could move without assistance. This was going to be new.

At first I was pretty uncomfortable. Not because I don’t like the elderly, but because I didn’t know who I should dance with, and I was kind of walking around this empty dance floor aimlessly thinking “I just know these old-timers are looking at me wondering who this kid is coming into our dance like that”. Many of the men and women there were married, many were widowed, and one guy was even there with his girlfriend (is it just me, or does the idea of a 90 year old man with an 87 year old girlfriend make you kinda chuckle), but not all of them wanted to dance. Donna (the director) directed me to a couple ladies, and eventually I got a feel for who was there to dance.

By the end of the night I danced with a lady in her late 70s or early 80s from Ireland (with a sweet brogue) named Maureen. To her, I’m Keith. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she had been calling me the wrong name all night. She was actually pretty spry and backled somethin’ fierce. We danced probably 5 times, and when I left, she made me promise to come back and dance with her again. She was telling her friends how good of a dancer I am, and it made me blush. Maureen trivia: she was in England during the air raids in WW2 (which is also the reason why the Pevinses had to go live with the Professor).

I also danced with a pretty young lady whose name I can’t remember. She is 92, and she told me “I like the slow ones.” So we danced a couple slow ones. I also danced with one lady who had to be also in her 90s while Dawn danced with her husband. They both looked very lovely…he in a black suit and she in an elegant red evening gown.

The last lady I remember dancing with I probably won’t forget. Her name is Delores, and she’s got Parkinson’s disease. Delores is in a wheelchair. However, in her younger days she and her husband would enter jitterbug competitions. It was a bit awkward at first, but I held her hands and we kinda bopped to the tunes. Occasionally she’d let go, but I couldn’t tell if her hand hurt or she was trying out some kind of styling move (jazz hands!). We danced twice. I would have loved to talk to her for a while, but the music was too loud to allow much conversation.

All in all, this was a really fun, really unique night. But these folks absolutely loved it. They begged us to come back next time. The fun part was hearing them talk about me. “Oh, he’s such a nice boy. He’s a very good dancer. If only I were 60 years younger.” Ok, so they didn’t say they wish they were younger. But I did enjoy making these ladies happy.

To quote the late George Younce, “I love old people! They kill ya’!”

-j

More great posts:

• No Related Posts