Haven't stopped dancing yet

When I hear the word arthritis, naturally the first image that comes to mind is an older person with a cane. But as my friend Arlene informed me, there are currently 300,000 children in the United States living with the children's form of the disease--juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, or JRA.

Last night Arlene came over so I could set up a Web page for her. She's soliciting donations for Arthritis Walk this Sunday on behalf of her daughter, Gabrielle. Arlene will be walking and pushing Gabrielle along in a stroller. Now 6, Gabrielle was diagnosed with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, or JRA, at the age of 2. Both of her knees and her left elbow were affected. Her left elbow is especially tough because Gabrielle is left-handed.

Shortly after her JRA diagnosis doctors discovered that Gabrielle also had uveitis, an arthritis-related disease of the eye. The initial flares caused muscle atrophy, leaving her with both fine and gross motor delays. Over the past 4 years Gabrielle has been cared for by myriad specialists--her pediatrician, as well as an orthopedic surgeon, physical therapist, ophthalmologist, rheumatologist, and occupational therapist. Her prescribed medication is not available for pediatric use in a regular pharmacy and needs to be special-ordered for her from a lab.

Today, Gabrielle's condition has become manageable, and next month she will give a ballet recital at a dance school in Brooklyn. Dancing has helped her strengthen her joints and check the disease.

When I look at Gabrielle's mother Arlene now, I still see the girl I've always known, and I know that she wishes sometimes that she could be as carefree as we used to be. Thirty years ago Arlene was the girl who taught me how to dance. It all started in the third grade, after Arlene transferred to the Catholic grammar school in Flatbush we both attended. She came up to me, this bubbly little Argentinean-American girl, to introduce herself. Whether she thought I was cute or safe we still can't agree on. We always joke about her precociousness with boys, a behavior she sees in Gabrielle now. "She flirts," Arlene always says knowingly, and I shrug and roll my eyes. In the seventh grade, just as Arlene was hitting puberty, an older boy who had an irrepressible crush on Arlene smashed his hand through a Bohack's window because he was spurned by her.

Throughout grammar school and high school Arlene and I were inseparable; I spent almost every day after school at her parents' house in Midwood. I was geeky and shy, and Arlene was bossy and outgoing. Somehow we bonded. She confided in me every deep, dark secret, she cried on my shoulder when she had boy troubles, and she tried hard to fix me up with girls. She'd always call me Siggy, after Sigmund Freud, because I always listened to her problems. We'd take walks down to the Junction at Avenue J and Flatbush, buy a pound bag of M&Ms, and finish the whole bag before we reached her house. Prophetically, she always told me I wasn't like the other boys. When I finally came out to her in college she was genuinely shocked. How could she not have known that I secretly lusted after the same boys she did?


Me, District Attorney Eugene Gold, Arlene receiving District Attorney's Citation of Honor in eighth grade (1976)

One day after school in the eighth grade, Arlene greeted me at the door by yanking my arm and pulling me upstairs. "There's this new dance called The Hustle," she announced, "and I'm going to teach it to you." I had never really danced before. I secretly wanted to, but I didn't see myself doing it. I didn't see myself as being attractive. Only the cool dancers on Soul Train and American Bandstand, which Arlene and I watched religiously every Saturday, could groove. But we were starting to have co-ed parties and dances at school, and Arlene wanted me to be her dance partner.

"Come on," she said, taking my hand. "I'm going to lead."

"I don't wanna," I said. "I'll look stupid."

"You won't look stupid," she said, "now come on and give me your hand." I reluctantly stood up and gave Arlene my hand, feigning resentment.

"Now, all you have to do is follow my lead." She put her hand on my hip and I put mine on her shoulder, and she counted out the steps. "1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8."

"What song is this?" I asked.

"It's a new song by Tavares called 'Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel.' Isn't it fabulous?" Inside I felt the energy, but I was having a hard time transferring it to my hips.

Arlene tried to swing me out and twirl me, but I was too uncoordinated to get the hang of it. There was too much hand-crossing and spinning for me.

I sat down and refused to get up. I could tell Arlene was dejected.

"I just can't get the hang of it," I said. The truth was, I really felt self-conscious.

She started the Tavares record over. I had to admit, it was hard not to want to move to the beat.

Arlene stood there, waiting for me for what seemed like forever.....Oh, why not? I thought. What have I got to lose?

I got up, and Arlene took my hand and started the count of 8. She swung me out, twirled me, pulled me in, then two-stepped around to begin a count of 8 again.

"Put your hips into it," she said. I put my hips into it. "That's it," she said. "Now just let yourself go with the music."

We must have listened to "Heaven" about 25 times that evening before we pulled off the dance steps without a hitch.

From then on Arlene and I became the Tony Manero and Stephanie Mangano of grammar school parties--several years before the movie.



That year at school I was voted Best Boy Dancer. I haven't stopped dancing yet.

Arlene and I have been friends now for almost 33 years. For the first time in our lives, we live right across the street from each other. Though we don't see each other much, we can still dance to Tavares without missing a beat. Gabrielle couldn't be in better hands.