The Tension In Square Dancing

"Oh, we could go square dancing."

I stared at my wife with a blank expression on my face for what must have been 15 seconds, if not 30, 40 or 50 seconds. It was January 2, and she was brainstorming ways we could really have some fun in 2019. 

I was lukewarm on the idea. I'd only square danced once in my life  — in elementary school, in fifth grade. It was part of the gym class curriculum. To the best of my recollection, I didn't learn any other type of dance in gym that year, or any other year I attended elementary school. Why my gym teachers felt I had to learn the do-si-do and not, say, the foxtrot or the Viennese waltz, I'll never know.

The unit on square dancing did mark a major milestone in my life: the first time I'd asked a girl to dance with me. This was the sort of pressure I did not want or need in my life at the time, but my gym teachers apparently felt differently. They didn't leave me with much of a choice: I had to find a partner to dance with, and that was it.

You may find this hard to believe, but I was kind of awkward around girls in fifth grade. I didn't have many girl friends, and I hadn't asked them for much  — maybe a pencil sharpener once or twice. But all of a sudden, I had to ask one of them if she'd be willing to let me swing her round and round. That's quite a leap.

Somehow, after several days of panic, I pulled myself together just long enough to ask a girl to be my square-dance partner. And, somehow, she agreed. Without much enthusiasm, mind you, but it didn't matter much to me. She said yes, and we square danced, and then we moved on with our lives.

That was the last memorable exchange I had with a girl until five years later, when I would ask one out for the first time. (She said no.) And it would be another 25 years before I would dance with a female again. It was on my wedding day. 

No, that's not true. I danced with my prom date to The Cardigans song "Lovefool." Or, rather, I danced in the middle of a circle of friends while she watched. But that's a story for another day.

I told my wife I would go square dancing with her because I'm a good husband and that's what good husbands do — they square dance. As I told her on the subway ride to a square-dancing event a few days later, "Of course I would do this for you. I'd do anything for you. And I have every expectation that you'll do something for me someday."

The event was held inside a gym, so of course I had flashbacks to fifth grade, having to learn a new dance, having to find a partner. But it turned out to be much less stressful this time. I didn't have to ask a woman to dance with me. A woman asked me to dance.

She was one of the organizers, and she realized right away I was new to square dancing and needed someone who could lead me. She was more enthusiastic about it all than my fifth-grade partner was.

She was very patient with me, very helpful, as was everyone else I danced with that night. (Since my wife was also a beginner, we were split up and didn't dance together.) They encouraged me and offered instruction where necessary.

"Hold me tighter! With tension!" one partner said as I was swinging her.

"With my wife in the room?" I thought to myself.

My wife and I stayed for nearly two hours. It was a real workout. My button-down shirt and jeans were drenched in sweat. It was easily the most intense dance I've ever participated in, ahead of that time I played "Just Dance" on the Wii for a half-hour.

I had fun square dancing, much more fun that I figured I would. I'm glad my wife suggested it.

She still owes me one, though. I've already started brainstorming.

The New Year's Eve Money I Didn't Take

We are a few hours into the new year, and yet I still can't let go of 2015. Or, rather, my family still can't let go of 2015, when I apparently made a terrible, terrible mistake at a New Year's Eve party — a mistake they've reminded me of every year since.

At the time I didn't feel I had done anything wrong. I'm still not sure I did anything wrong. I kind of think I did something right.

But I could be wrong.

That holiday season I'd traveled out of town with my parents to visit relatives, and we all celebrated New Year's Eve together at the home of a family friend. This was someone I'd never met before. She was very nice, very friendly, very Persian. 

It was your typical New Year's Eve party. At least it was for most of the night. There was lots of good food, lots of fun conversation. We all gathered in front of the TV at 11:59:50 to count down the final seconds of 2015, and we all cheered wildly when the ball dropped, signaling the start of a new year.

Everyone was feeling great, myself included.

And then the host did something that caught me completely off-guard: She handed out money to all of the guests. Five dollars. Per guest. She pressed a bill into my hand and said, "Happy New Year!"

I clutched the bill and stared at it for a solid minute. I thought of all the different things I could do with it. I don't mean all the different ways I could spend it. I mean all the different ways I could dispatch of it. I could return it to the host. I could hide it behind a couch pillow. I could flush it down the toilet. I could leave it in the mailbox on the way out. I could dig a hole in the backyard and bury it. The possibilities were endless. 

The one thing I absolutely was not going to do with it, though, was keep it. I just didn't feel comfortable accepting money from someone I didn't know very well. Perhaps if it had been my New Year's resolution to accept more money from people I didn't know very well, I would've been more comfortable with the whole situation. But I'd made no such resolution.

Ultimately, I placed the bill on a small table in the living room as we said our goodbyes. I was very discreet about it. To this day I have no idea if the host knows I'm the one who left the bill there. It might still be on that table, for all I know.

The morning after the party, I told my family what I'd done. I don't think I could ever disappoint them more than I did in that moment. 

"WHAT?! Shane!! Why did you do that?"

"I don't know, I felt weird about it."

"It was a gift!"

"It wasn't wrapped. A gift is wrapped."

And on and on it went for the next 10 minutes, though the passage of time hasn't resolved much. We have this same argument every New Year's Eve. My family's point, which they've articulated in one form or another over and over again: If someone gives you something, you should accept it and be grateful.

(Update: After I published this blog entry, one family member emailed me to note that it's Persian tradition to hand out money on New Year's. It is a Persian tradition ... on the Persian New Year. And the money is usually for children.)

I mentioned this story to someone at a New Year's Eve party last night. His response: "I would've taken the money!"

Who knows, maybe there really was nothing to feel weird about, and maybe I should have taken the money. My goal for this year is to score another New Year's invite to that home so I can check the table for my $5 bill. I'll reevaluate my decision then.