As I pressed my foot against the gas pedal, butterflies turned in my stomach. I tried to keep my mind off the thought of caring about what people would think of me while I drowned in conversation with a friend in my passenger seat.
I did my best to focus on the positive of the situation; it was for a good cause. I did my best to try to be myself. I did my best to try to be just me.
We walked into the smaller building, avoiding the tons of cars who filled up the parking lot. Before I could shake hands with familiar faces, a boy in a red shirt grabbed my hand and proceeded to dance.
He spun me around, shaking from side to side. People began to watch us, cameras began to flash and smiles grew. I blocked out the eyes beaming down on us and proceeded to simply not care anymore. I hopped and twisted, as my eyes never left his satisfying smile. All I could care about was the way he looked at me, and the room around him.
“It’s like their own little prom”, a woman next to me said. The word “their” made me angry. It was like she was putting the people of all ages into a category. Students, teenagers, adult, even elderly people danced. Some had Down syndrome, autism, some even watched the night play away in a wheelchair. As I continued to dance, I became less angry. She was right; it was “their own little prom.” These people deserved to be in their own category. I had never seen so many happy people who simply didn’t care about what anyone thought about them.
Her words began to inspire me.
Just to be, me.
Several hands met mine and shortly said goodbye. But, each voice entered a spot in my heart that would never leave. My knees began to ache; I had officially danced more than I had ever in my life. I didn’t stop, their happiness overwhelmed me in a way I had never felt before. I never wanted to stop dancing.
A man’s hands gripped mine and he smiled as told me he was 42-years-old. His hands were ruff and scale like. “I have a job, do you have a job?” he asked me excitedly waiting for my reply. Set aside from his minor disabilities, he was able to do things on his own. Working at a store for over three years, he proved himself to the world. He was content with life, telling me all about the activities he enjoyed. I too started to be content with my life, regretting all the tons of things I had complained about before.
They were teaching me just to be me.
Some of us joined and took pictures, I found myself not wanting to leave. My heart felt alive for once. The pumping of blood was different than ever before. Humbleness conquered my soul as each picture clicked. Their jokes and sweet hugs made me feel young again.
As I started to walk out the door, I couldn’t help but thank God for creating such wonderful people. I began to wonder if this was my calling to help others for a living possibly one day. The Sweetheart Dance was an opportunity for myself to learn how to reach into the world a little deeper, continuing to learn how to be just me.
