The Crooked Man - or, A Thousand Miles in His Shoes

"There was a crooked man, who walked a crooked mile..... he found a crooked style...... on the style he found a crooked pence..... with the crooked pence he bought a crooked dog..... who chased a crooked cat...... who caught a crooked mouse. And they all lived together in a little crooked house." Since I was a little child, I have heard and sung this song. Seven years ago, I moved into a house out in the country. It was here that I first happened upon the "Crooked Man."

I suppose you could call him Fulton's very own Boo Radley. (To Kill a Mockingbird) My dad was the one who gave him the name of "the Crooked Man", and to tell the truth, I rarely call him that. But we have all had our theories on what has made him the way he is.

The Walking Man, as I prefer to call him, lives in a convalescent home just around the corner from me. A long, unkept beard blends with his his long, scraggly hair. He often wears khaki pants, a green shirt, and some sort of baggy jacket. The most important part of his ensemble is his shoes. Striking white sneakers. My dad calls him the Crooked Man because of the way he walks. His right shoulder stoops, with that same arm rather dead at his side. His left foot turns in as he walks, and slightly drags. His right arm he keeps slightly bent up, always ready to form the peace sign when someone waves at him. But he is the Walking Man because everyday, I assume it must be quite early in the morning, he leaves his house and walks all over town. It is hard to describe exactly how far he walks without a map of Sonoma County, but lets just say that Santa Rosa is the central city (at least 250,000 people), with smaller cities all around it. I have seen him walking in: Santa Rosa, Fulton, Windsor, Sebastopol, Petaluma, Sonoma, and several other small towns.

But what has always bothered me is: what drives him to walk so far? Is he some sort of real life Forrest Gump, that just feels like walking? I don't know.....

By now you're surely wondering what the heck this has to do with dancing. Well, it is this: What drives me to dance? And my only answer is this: I don't know. I can't explain it, except that there is something deep inside of me that just comes alive when I dance, when I hear music, even simply watching someone else dance. And maybe someday I'll be old and crazy like the Walking Man, but something will always be there to drive me to dance.