Now, I had no problem with most Rock music, but at this time it was my out. In our home we didn’t generally play it. My parents didn’t really object to it. But I was counting on my family’s emphasis on classical music to get me out of the dance. When the music stopped, I walked out of the gym to get a drink of water. The teacher of the girls’ class, who was teaching the dance, asked me to come back. I didn’t. She followed me out to the hall. “Don’t you want to dance Billy?” she said halfheartedly. I looked at her, feigning indignity. “Oh no, I don’t think I should.”
“Why not?” Her voice was more serious now.
I tried to make myself as upset as possible, by tensing up and trying to make my face go red “It’s hippie music!” I said, loudly. “That dance is nothing but hippie music!”
Well, that’s all it took. Nobody bothered after that me about not doing the dance. It seemed my “moral” ploy had worked. My teacher, Gary Robinson, took my place and all went smoothly. I was a bit embarrassed that I caused such a scene, but at least I didn’t have to do the dance. All those years of hating to dance with girls, and now I had finally gotten out of it. At the program I watched the dancers. It was funny, I longed to be up there with them. I even found myself humming along with the song.
Coming Tomorrow: My Bad Knee
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