Everyone Has A Story

Years back if you'd opened that door in the photo and walked inside, you would have discovered a talented and hard-working woman who spent her life in the world of dance; teaching dance to anyone willing to learn. Of course, willing to learn, in her book, meant possessing the ability to listen, to pay attention, to be able to take criticism and then accepting the criticism which she herself described as "essential." It didn't matter if you were a young child-a moody teenager or nervous adult. If you were in her School of Dance, this instructor let it be known that she was there to teach. Lack of attention or fooling around would not be tolerated.

The instructor's name was Ruth Dumas, who at the age of sixteen, moved to New York City to study dance.To pay for her lessons and expenses, she'd assist with instruction. After opening her school of dance when returning to her hometown in 1935, Ruth kept studying dance during the summers in New York City with Dance Educators of America. Mrs. Dumas taught dancing for over fifty years.

When I was in junior high school, my older brother and I took dance lessons with an aunt and uncle at Ruth Dumas' School of Dance. I considered my aunt and uncle to already be pretty good dancers, especially when doing the jitterbug. Lessons were Tuesday evenings. I can't remember how many weeks we enrolled but I do remember how much fun we had. My brother was my partner. He stepped on my feet when learning the jitterbug, the cha-cha, the stroll and ballroom dancing. Despite that, we did learn to dance and Mrs. Dumas gets all the credit. Our learning how to dance those different dances was because she'd take us aside, slow us down, get and keep our attention and go through every step one at a time. She'd continue doing the steps until we mastered them.

Years later I was back at Ruth Dumas' School of Dance with my younger daughter. I enjoyed sitting on a bench and watching her under the instruction of a master in her craft. I can't remember how it happened, but often when a lesson was over, my daughter and I would give Mrs. Dumas a ride home. When I think back to those short rides in the car with Mrs. Dumas, I find myself wishing I'd bothered to get to know her; wish I'd asked her questions about her experiences. It was only after she passed away that I learned what an amazing life she'd led. I never knew all that she'd accomplished in her lifetime. I'd never taken the time to ask.

Everyone has a story. Because my father was a funeral director I've always found obituaries interesting, and some, fascinating reads. They are mini biographies. Each is a glance into a life. We assume we know someone but discover that not to be true. We form opinions about someone and learn our assumptions are baseless. I often think so many senior citizens are untapped history books full of untold stories. The longer you live the more you've experienced; the more people you've met; the more places you've been and the more history you've lived through. It's our loss when someone passes away and their stories, big and small, pass away with them.

I will forever treasure the times I sat around my grandmother's kitchen table with cousins and siblings and listened to family stories told by my grandmother and aunts. When one story was finished, we asked for another and then another. Coffee made in a simple little pot never tasted so good. It probably had a lot to do with the conversation going on.