A conversation with my mother-in-law last night about stake dances brought back some haunting memories about my own stake dance days, and reminded me why I didn't like them. Let me tell you why.
I attended my first stake dance when I was 14. I'm pretty sure it was a tri-stake dance because the boy in my English class that I had a slight crush on was there, and as far as my research at the time told me, he was not in my stake. I was nervous to go, but I did my best to tell my shy self to take a hike for the evening because I wanted to have fun. It was summertime, and really hot, so instead of making us all sweat profusely inside of a sweltering gym, we got to sweat profusely in the parking lot of our stake center. Which was right next door to an elementary school. Which had a soccer field.
The dance probably started at 8:00, and I, having not yet learned about the fashionably late rule, probably arrived right on time. The music was just getting started, but nobody was dancing yet. I found a few friends and spent the first while clinging to them. It is important for this story to note that at 8:00 in the summer meant that there was roughly 2 hours of daylight left in the day. The sun was setting, but we had a while before the parking lot lights had to be turned on.
More kids arrived and the dance started picking up. Pretty much everyone danced to the loud, fast songs -- even me, who was (and is still) arguably the most uncoordinated dancer ever. But only a few brave souls ventured to the center to tree-dance to the slow songs. I was not one of those souls. Sure, I would have liked English class boy -- or any boy, for that matter -- to have ask me to dance, but by the third or fourth slow song spent alone on the sidelines, I accepted the fact that tonight probably wasn't going to be my night. Which was probably just as well because I wouldn't have known what to do with myself anyway if a boy had asked me.
But then it happened. I was asked to dance. His name was Andy and after he asked me, I followed him out to the floor. We proceeded to awkwardly tree dance (which, for those of you unfamiliar with the term, is basically this: girl holds boy's shoulders, boy holds girl's waist, both boy and girl sway clumsily back and forth, like trees blowing gently in a haphazardly hormonal breeze, making no eye contact, conversing little, and pretty much just hoping for the best).
About half-way through the song, Andy started thanking me for dancing with him. I thought this gratitude was a little pre-mature, seeing as the second verse wasn't even over yet. But then he continued. He was thanking me for the dance because it meant that, once it was over, he was free to go to the elementary school field next door and play soccer with the rest of boys who had come to the dance. Apparently the chaperones said it was all right for the boys to all go play soccer, so long as they danced with a girl before they left and came back when it got dark. To be honest, this reason for getting asked to dance stung more than just a little. I didn't know how to respond to him, so I probably just said nothing until the song was over, at which point I gave him a cheerful, though totally fake, smile, thanked him as well, and returned to my place on the sidelines.
For the next hour and a half or so, the parking lot was filled with only females. The slow dances (which for some reason the DJ still played) were even more pathetic than before. I spent the entire time feeling used and pretty stupid, counting the eternal minutes before I could go home (being only 14, I had to wait for my ride). The boys returned for the last half hour or so of the dance. But they took the fun of the dance with them when they went to the soccer field, and they forgot to bring it back with them when they returned.
I pretty much boycotted stake dances for the next five years or so. I didn't have fun at the first one, where I'd put so much of myself out there, and I never really felt up to risking it again. But, judging by the junior high dances I've chaperoned in recent years (which in Utah Valley are the equivalent of a stake dance), I didn't miss out on much.
2 comments:
I still miss the good old days of the Mid-Michigan stake dances in the early 70's. They were fun, everyone was friends, and everyone danced. What was the secret of their success? All I can say is I'm glad you found Blake. Does he need his dancing shoes back?
oh dear. That must have been traumatic! I had a couple awful stake dance experiences, but I kept going. My first slow dance at a stake dance, and the boy's hands started to wander. I was shocked and ran away.
Then, my crush danced with me; dipped me; I crashed to the floor with a thud. That was the last time we danced. He turned out to be a loser anywho.
Thank goodness for good men (even if my man CANNOT dance worth beans - a statement with which he would heartily agree).
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