I'm a dancer.I know the wonderful thrill of smoothly gliding across a wooden floor. I know the fantastic feeling of allowing your heartbeat to match the rhythm of the music. Polkaing in the grass as the world whirls by in a swirl of color. Twirling. Spinning. Flying.
I'm a dancer.
I know the pain of bruised, blistered and tired feet. I know the hours spent learning the steps, tripping over myself, trying to memorize grace. Practice. Exhaustion. Soreness. More and more practice.
And yet, if you go to a dance, it's expected that you've studied the steps. It's expected that you've practiced the moves and tried to learn the technicalities. Everyone studies the dance steps so they can move smoothly and gracefully, so they don't step on their partners' feet, so they can have fun, so they can really dance. It's a social courtesy.
Manners are also a social courtesy. Manners, chivalry, etiquette - they're all steps to the dance we call life. It takes much practice, it takes messing up sometimes, it might mean sore pride and bruised dignity. And yet, if you master those important steps; if you know how to be courteous, socially acceptable, graceful and polite, you'll be able to soar on that dance floor. Doors open, opportunities arise when you can glide and whirl on the dance floor of life.
A redneck is the guy that refuses to learn the dance steps.
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