Birds of Paradise and Peacocks need neither music nor lessons to know how to strut their stuff. They jump and flit around to impress a potential suitor or mate. Other birds build elaborate nests, then wait for the right partner to flutter past.

Unfortunately, most humans aren’t blessed with gyration genetics like those of fowl, Michael Jackson or Elvis Presley and are instead impaired by the two-left-footed gene. Luckily, Chubby Checker provided his 1960 rendition of Hank Ballard’s song, “The Twist.” Both the song and the dance swept the country and were further amplified by the Beatles version, “Twist and Shout.” It wasn’t long before everyone was twisting. Chiropractors were elated. But I have more to appreciate and be thankful for this Thanksgiving than just the music of Chubby, John, Paul, George and Ringo.

Around this time in 1960, my mother probably detected my twist-less talent and wasn’t willing to risk I might never leave home to find a nest of my own. She signed me up for ballroom dance class when I turned 10. Lessons were provided by a classmate’s mother, Mrs. Hall, in her home two blocks from school. Most of my fifth-grade class participated. After mastering the twist, fox-trot, waltz, two-step and tango techniques, we also practiced the requirement to properly bow and thank partners after the music stopped. Elements of those dances learned in 1960 have remained with me through the years. Up until Rita and I were recently guests watching the Hawaii Star Ball, I mistakenly thought I was pretty good at it.

The annual event featured dance competitions among participants from across the U.S. and Canada. Entrants, ages 10 to 82, partnered with their own dance instructors and were judged by professionals as they performed in a wide variety of categories. Participants floated, slid, jumped and whirled over the dance floor demonstrating skills not seen since Gene Kelly was singin’ in the rain. Throughout more than 1,200 interludes, one to twelve couples took the floor for four days while we sat slack jawed, watching the incredible talent on display.

As music appropriate for each step to be judged began, gentlemen invited their cohorts to dance, raising hands toward their partners who then approached to accept the invitation. The gesture was reminiscent of asking elementary classmate partners to join me during 1960 lessons — an awkward necessity for timid 10-year-olds like myself. Fortunately, Mrs. Hall’s dance lesson rules included every girl and boy must share at least one dance together during each lesson. This assured acceptance to most requests for a dance back then reminds me now of TARP (Teenage Recreational Program), an organized gathering of my fellow junior high eighth graders in 1964.

TARP was held in a sizable gymnasium where boys were required to be seated on one side of the basketball court and girls on the other. Prior to the start of music for each dance, the announcer would indicate either “girls’ choice, boy’s choice” or “anyone’s choice” to signal who would be inviting whom to dance. With perhaps 50 potential partners to choose from, there were more I didn’t know than those I did. Not willing to risk rejection, I often picked one of my former classmates from fifth grade, Susie Chris, during “boy’s choice” and frequently wasn’t asked to dance during “girl’s choice,” an element that rejuvenated my shyness back then. When Susie eventually declined a dance invitation, TARP days ended for me.

Upon meeting Rita for the first time, we shared dinner, then wrapped up the evening dancing to country/western tunes at a Bismarck gathering spot. Had it not been for a mother’s concern resulting in early dance lessons and adding Brooks and Dunn’s “Boot-Scootin’ Boogie” later, a left-footed guy like me might never have been lucky enough to end up sharing turkey and dressing in a comfortable nest and the occasional tango with such a beautiful bird.