Summer 2005 - I went to family reunion for the Bishop side of the family a beautiful resort in New York (not the city) called Mohonk. Apparently one of my mom's uncle's has some money and he footed the bill for about 50 people - rooms, food, you name it. The place is absolutely beautiful and reminds me of one of those resorts they have in movies like Dirty Dancing (don't mock my choice of comparisons, please). There's a lake, hiking, horseback riding, etc. There was not a television nor a clock in any of the rooms, so it was definitely a remote few days, but well worth it.
Different nights resulted in different entertainment. One night there was a card tournament, one night a showing of "Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events," and one night square dancing. I hadn't had the "pleasure" of square dancing since 9th grade on a school trip to Eagle's Nest. Every trip from 5th grade through 9th grade included square dancing. Camp Greenville, the Barrier Island trip, Earthshine, Camp Chosatonga, and Brassville - all of them included a night of square dancing. I suppose I appreciated square dancing more this particular time, but it still wasn't high on my priority list of things to do. That being said, my dad insisted I square dance. I was the partner my dad swung and do-si-doed. I must admit it was fun, until we had to sashay . . .
The caller told us to form two lines: men on one side, women on the other. As I stood across from my dad, the first couple sashayed down the aisle. Down and up and around to the end. Next couple. Couple after couple sashay, finally my dad and I reach the front of the line. We sashay down aisle no problem. We begin our dance back up when my dad screams in agony. He starts yelling that someone kicked him in the back of the leg and hobbling on one foot. The dancing stops. People gather around. The doctor is called. Kate, not a doctor but close enough as far as my family is concerned, quietly assesses the situation. My dad has not, in fact, been kicked in the leg. He has torn his Achilles tendon. Needless to say, that ends the night. My dad is in extreme pain and nothing can be done. We are further in the middle of nowhere than I am in Mississippi. There's also two days left of our vacation. After being asked multiple times what has happened to his foot, my dad decides that the best response is extreme square dancing and explains that I threw him down the aisle. The day after my parents get back to Columbia, my dad has surgery.
Fast forward to March 2007 - I go to my cousin Jinny's wedding. My family is there. After my parents danced to a few songs (they can really cut a rug) my dad grabs me to dance. It's our first dance since the night of extreme square dancing. We dance, we twirl, and we sashay just for fun. My dad and I laugh at our little scene; my mom is not as amused. She shakes her finger at us to make us stop.
This is one of a lifetime of memories that I hold dear.
5 seconds before I threw him down the aisle.
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