Many years ago, I dated a guy who was taking salsa classes. The group would occasionally visit a small local dance club to celebrate everyone’s progress. Lest anyone be left out, the class had agreed on a certain protocol, a line-up as it were. You would dance with one partner, then move to the next in line at the music change. When my friend would see that a particularly less than graceful partner was next in line, he would take himself out of the queue and get a drink or walk off towards the restrooms. Why would you do that, I had asked, picturing the partnerless dancer standing awkwardly on the floor. “I don’t dance with the tough ones” he replied.
That response pierced me, drew a little blood. Indeed, we did not continue to date for much longer after that – not because of the remark exactly but certainly due to his acceptance that such is a good way to live. Maybe it is. It is for him. I sense however that I am resolutely numbered among the Tough Ones. Certainly I related much more with the hapless salsa ladies standing along the periphery awaiting his welcoming hand. In his defense, he may have felt that his ability to lead such a dancer would be duly hampered to no one’s benefit or enjoyment. Additionally, the rejected partner had ample opportunity to find another more aligned or even sashay off by herself, salsa convention be damned.
Sometimes we can defy societal norms, face the cold wind of rejection with courage. Even the tough ones however aren’t always so tough underneath.
I see all around me many of these tough ones. I work with the elderly, so many of whom are sick and struggling with few resources and even less support. Their friends have died off and their families are busy or worse, have written them off. Often there is evidence of the behaviors that may have led to the loss of familial affection. Modern psychologists especially of the social media variety often commend adults for cutting off their toxic family members. Protect your peace, they exhort. We are admonished to treat people in the manner that they treat us, give them their just desserts.
How terrifying. What is it that I deserve? What do any of us deserve? What if no one ever danced with the tough ones?
My first job after university was teaching at a tiny private Catholic school. The students came from mostly middle and upper middle class families that were more involved than not. Nevertheless there were always those students who struggled be it academically, socially, emotionally. The principal of the upper school was an tall imposing former nun named Liz who despite running a school continued to teach one or two classes every year. She always took the lower level history classes, never the honors or college placement levels that the other administrators taught. In many ways, those are the easier classes, smaller and populated by motivated students. When asked if she’d like to take on one of the honors courses, she always replied, “No thanks, I like the fringe elements ”
Liz danced with the tough ones. She moved with them, bent when it was necessary, employed fancy footwork to motivate and inspire. It didn’t always work and plenty of toes were probably squashed, but she cared about every one of those kids and they loved and respected her in return.
It’s easy to see children as deserving care even if they can be difficult. How much harder is it to give to those who perhaps do not deserve your efforts. Maybe it is less about what people deserve and more about what we want to give into the world. The same guy who wouldn’t dance with the tough ones called me several months after we broke up. We had ended on very reasonably amicable terms despite my feeling the sting of rejection. He needed favor that would require me taking a little time off at work. It wasn’t like there were no other options for him although they would have been far more burdensome. I thought about refusing, knowing if I asked anyone, they would have immediately told me to do just that. Don’t be ridiculous, they would say, he doesn’t deserve your help.
I did it anyway. Not because I’m so special or because he was particularly deserving, although neither was he particularly undeserving. But because that is who I want to show up as. I want to be the person you can call on when there’s no one else left. When you’re in a bad spot, when it’s going to be awkward. Even when we aren’t all that deserving of someone’s care, because that’s what grace is. Grace is when someone shows up when you’re not all that deserving, when you’re difficult or avoidant. Grace is about dancing with the tough ones, because there are moments when we are all of us the tough ones.
