During my childhood and early adolescence, I was extremely shy; thus, very reluctant to dance with girls under any circumstance, at any time, and at any place. Then when I reached my juvenile years and began drinking, I’d go out on the floor only when I was high. For instance, while at basement parties at my dad’s and aunt’s house, I’d take a couple of drinks to work up my nerves. Then when the high did come on, I’d do the easy dances like the Twist, Mashed Potato, Slop and the Hitch Hike. The East Coast Swing—a dance derived from the Lindy Hop and Jitterbug—employed steps too complicated for me. At one Episcopal Church dance I did the Bump and Grind (slow drag). Doing this dance with no intricate steps while being inebriated was a snap; since all I had to do was rub my pelvis against a girl’s pelvis while holding her as I staggered around.
     In my aunt’s cellar, I would rein supreme dancing the Limbo. They would keep lowering the pole, and I’d keep passing under it. Today, I dare not try it with these old bones and beer belly. Even then, I mainly sat around drinking and watching others dance most of the time. For me, dancing was similar to swimming—I feared both. This was the same reason that I opted out of the school prom.