What happened when we taught our teenagers to dance

This essay is about how wonderful dancing is, but I have to begin by admitting that I don’t dance. I won’t dance. I won’t dance at parties, weddings, or anywhere else. I don’t dance when I’m alone and certainly not if anyone else is watching. I’ve been assured over and over again that if I just get out on the dance floor, I’ll have fun.

When I was a teenager, I tried that at school dances. I didn’t have fun. Sometimes, those same people repeatedly insist that I need to dance, I must dance and, if I don’t, then I’m no fun. The social pressure is unrelenting. Trust me, I have a great time on the sidelines watching other people as they have fun dancing. It does look fun and I’m glad they like it. I’d just rather not because, if I did it, it wouldn’t be the same. Thankfully, these days I can arrive to the wedding receptions wearing my cassock and no one expects a priest to dance.

Leaving aside the issue of priestly comportment, the main reason I don’t dance is because I’m highly self-conscious. In my imagination I cannot help but picture myself dancing, limbs flailing, slightly off-rhythm, unaware of any “moves” that make sense in any kinetically pleasing way at all. Because of my self-consciousness I am almost outside of myself, watching my body. I feel helplessly stuck in a bad dream.

I really do enjoy watching people who are good at dancing when they dance. At weddings, there can be a wide range of talents. Kids are, naturally and always, good at it. Some adults aren’t so good but are so enthusiastic they more than make up for lack of skill. Some people dance with a certain look on their face that I find amusing and slightly embarrassing. I worry that if I was to dance I would have that look on my face. No one else would notice or think anything of it because it’s just people having fun and isn’t a big deal, but I would be hyper-aware of it.

Sometimes at weddings the bride and groom have a lovely first dance. It’s always a formal dance and I can tell they’ve practiced the steps. They want to do a good job for each other. Their effort becomes a visible expression of their new love. I find it endearing. Other times the dance isn’t formal, it has no steps to be followed, and all the bride and groom can do is cling to each other and sway for as long as the music lasts. They don’t quite know how to move together.

This, too, I find endearing, this visibly expressed idea that the couple will hold onto each other no matter what, even if they don’t know yet where they’re heading or how to move in the right direction. Their trust in each other makes the awkward dance beautiful. In these situations, though, the DJ often intervenes and cuts the song short because it seems to drag on. It seems as though the formal dances are more successful, generally, at communicating the love.

I wonder if I would like dancing much more if there were less of the informal type of dancing and more formal dancing. Most modern dances, such as, say a high school prom, devolve into unstructured chaos on the dance floor. I would prefer less of the typical slate of random slow dances sprinkled into the thumping bass notes of endless party songs to which everyone jumps around wildly or shows off their dancing robot arms. What if, when I was young, someone had taught me how to swing dance, or the rules of ballroom, or the precise steps to English country dancing?

I suspect I would’ve liked dancing a lot more, or at least been more confident and capable at it instead of heading for the exit at prom as soon as possible. Maybe I would have stayed and enjoyed the evening.

To me, the key to overcoming self-consciousness has always been a clear understanding of the rules and expectations for an activity. I remember, for instance, trying to pray the spontaneous prayers common in evangelical Christianity. I never felt like I was really praying because I was always worried about making up what I needed to say next. Once I became Catholic, the formal, structured prayers of the Church set me free to truly pray for the first time. I love the stately orderliness of Holy Mass, which is, more or less, a slow and solemn dance. The rules and etiquette, whether in liturgy or dance, sets the participants free.

This is why I’m so interested in the recent, growing movement in our local Catholic community to teach our teenagers to dance. The Chesterton Academy of St. Louis, which I chaplain, last year began teaching all the students how to swing dance. The local homeschool co-op did the same. A few local parishes, including my Oratory of Sts. Gregory and Augustine, hosted English country dances in which the teens learned the steps and practiced together. The result was fascinating. Suddenly, dances were happening everywhere, and all the teens were enthusiastic about attending.

The structure and predictability of learning formal rules to dance greatly increased a natural and healthy interaction between the boys and girls. Their self-confidence grew and, because they had been made aware of the expectations for not only how to dance but also the social niceties around it, the boys became courageous and began asking the girls to dance, who graciously accepted. All the awkwardness that usually attends such rituals dissipated.

It was a joy to witness how even the most dance-averse students took to it and became more confident.

Anna Kalinowski, who taught our oratory teens English country dancing, says, “I often see among my shy or more reserved students a visible sense of relief when they realize that styles such as English country dancing or ballroom dancing have form, that is, underlying structure on which they may lean. Adhering to form guarantees even the newest dancers some measure of grace and frees them from that crushing self-consciousness people always rightfully feel when thrown into typical post-modern dances which are nothing but an embarrassing chaos of formless gyrations.” I think that’s well said, and it’s exactly what we saw happening.

So, what happened when we taught all the teenagers to dance? The result was far more than simply having students who can now dance. They also gained self-confidence, practiced healthy social interaction, increased their courtesy and social ease, and, of course, they all had a great time. I highly recommend a similar effort in every Catholic school and parish.

So, friends, it’s too late for me. I never learned to dance. Don’t make my mistake. Learn to dance, teach your children, and have a wonderful time.