An Apology to the Dancer.
On Sunday, December 9, my girlfriend Elaine treated me to my first ever Parkinson's event. It was a benefit for the National Parkinson's Foundation sponsored by The Falls Prime Steakhouse Martini Dome and Water Fx in La Quinta, near Palm Springs. We had a great time and learned a valuable lesson from the "dancer."
After we arrived fashionably late, mingled with the crowd, toured the building and viewed the artwork, it was quite late when we finally started eating. While finishing our meal a man came in dressed mostly in black leather. At first glance he reminded me of Palladin in the old "Have Gun, Will Travel" TV series. He approached our table and the rest of the story follows:
Gatecrasher, late to the party was he.
Stumbling and weaving he bumped against me,
Then turned to stare with a look that of stone.
Next to get food as he left us alone.
Drunkard weaving,
Seldom leaving.
But he came back again bumping me hard,
Making me madder and up went my guard.
Quickly he left and a blank was his face.
Peace was for me as he went to his place.
Drunkard bumping,
Always something.
When the small band began playing I glanced.
Staggering he went to ask for a dance.
Knowing the drunk could have started a scene,
Damn was my thought as I might intervene.
Drunkard offending,
Never amending.
Hey, that is it. Before we have a fight.
Go away! Leave her alone for the night.
Put on your jacket and get out of here.
Back to the bar where they served you that beer.
Drunkard recoiling,
Almost to boiling.
'Twas the month before Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a person was dancing, not even the louse.
The band was up playing a song with a flare,
In hopes that a dance couple soon would be there.
As they played I could see how the rhythm took hold,
For the night was magic it was good for the soul.
With air that's so crisp and the stars shining bright,
My girl and I hoped for a long desert night.
Then appeared on the floor someone dancing so smooth.
We all strained to admire. There was grace in his move.
The dancer was a Parkie and not really drunk,
With rhythms in control he showed he had spunk.
When the song was over and the dancer took leave,
The lesson was good for us all to believe.
For he taught me to think about what's really right.
Try not to be judging with all of your might.
