Stepping on Cracks

My dad is famous for saying that he doesn't want to become an "old man". I understand that sentiment, but today I am feeling it with some passion behind it. A big part of Central Asian and Eastern culture is celebration through dancing…and I am either dance-deficient or I’m getting old.
Our living room, friend's homes, restaurants and even streets often become the scene for spontaneous dancing in Turkey. Men linking arms with men and women with women a large circle is formed and a series of steps are made that rotate the circle to the beat. The machinations of syncing my appendages with those of the other dancers and the music is something far beyond my skill set.


I am not by any defintion "a dancer"...but in this crowd spectators are not allowed. Many times I have been pulled to my feet and thrust into the center of the crowd to dance…poorly.
A few days ago I decided that if I was to continue with cultural saturation I had to learn to dance like a Turk. I started some Turkish music and stood in the living room ready to practice.
With my first step I heard a loud "crack" and remember wondering why I was laying on the floor holding my foot and gasping for breath...the sensations of pain hit and I knew my 3 seconds of dancing fame were over.
My 5th metatarsal is broken clean through and my right foot looks like something out of the Hobbit world. Green and blue with shades of periwinkle, it is swollen and tender and out of commission for the month. In light of this experience I have resigned myself to being the "foreigner who dances like a chicken".
Flat on my back…that’s the news from the Far Side of the World.