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I will never forget the day I met Dennis, although I do not remember the year. I think I was about ten or eleven years old when my family drove into town to meet my baby cousin.
When we walked in, B. and Dennis, then teachers at a ballroom dance studio, were practicing dance steps by the fireplace. They looked so elegant together all dressed up to go out and I seriously coveted my beautiful cousin’s snazzy high-heeled shoes. I was fascinated at the way B and Dennis matched each other’s steps when they danced, the way they sparkled when they smiled at each other, and the miraculous way they moved in synch without ever looking down at their feet.
When the song was over, B smiled at my excitement and asked me if I’d like to learn how to dance. I said that I certainly would when I grew up.
Dennis held out his hand to me and said, “Why don’t you give it a try right now?”
My dad piped up. He said, “That kid is about as graceful as a herd of turtles.”
Dennis didn’t even look at him. He took my hand and pulled me up off the couch.
“You can do it, hon, come on,” he encouraged.
Except for a gentle admonishment not to look at my feet, I don’t remember anything else about that lesson until the very end when Dennis twirled me. Dennis twirled me and I didn’t mess up. Dennis twirled me and I didn’t fall down. I ignored the negative and followed Dennis’ lead. Dennis showed me how to succeed and how to do it with style and flourish. A girl never forgets the first man who twirls her. I will always adore Dennis.
Dennis loved his family and referred to himself right up to the end as the luckiest man alive. The ones who knew him--we were the lucky one. RIP, my hero.
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