Guy dancing at Wild Bill's before concert

Relaxing safely back home after a weekend road trip to Atlanta.  Roy and I saw Jason Aldean Friday night then went to the "World of Coco-Cola" museum on Saturday. Roy toured the Georgia aquarium -- world's largest aquarium -- while I rested. Left Saturday night and arrived home this morning before noon. Did not have time to visit Loganville or Stone Mountain...

The concert took place at Wild Bill's in Duluth, Georgia (in the Atlanta area). Our tickets were for standing room only, so Roy found us a good spot near the front right of the stage. Prior to the show starting at 9:00pm, country music was playing. The venue had a huge dance floor and a few people were dancing in the area of the floor farthest from the stage.

What held my attention was one of the dancers in particular. He was a marvelous dancer, the best male dancer to take the dance floor that evening, in my opinion. He held a white handkerchief in his right hand. He was so mesmerizing I couldn't stop watching.

He gave me much to think about. You see, his right arm was prosthetic. The right hand that held the handkerchief was part of the prosthesis.

I wondered, was he a soldier who lost his arm in recent combat? (He did not seem to be older than me, so I don't think he was old enough to have been in Vietnam.) Was he a farmer who lost his arm in a farming accident? A motorcyclist who lost his arm in a motorcycle accident?

I noticed that the other dancers seemed to ignore him. Despite his ability on the dance floor, they did not seem to seek his interaction in between songs. Was he from out of town? Disfigured? Socially inept? Were the others uncomfortable around him? Was he a regular at the club who was known for having an unfriendly attitude?

Regardless of the answers to these questions, the bottom line is that he was out on the dance floor dancing and doing so with ability and charisma.

If I lost an arm, would I focus my thoughts on my loss, or would I have the courage to get out on the dance floor and dance my heart out, regardless of the reaction of the other dancers and the spectators? Would I take years to mentally adjust to life without my right arm or would I accept the loss of my arm as one of those things that I can not change and move on from there?

I am grateful to this dancer, who entertained Roy and I for about an hour, but who also gave me food for thought. His courage was a tremendous example to us. Yet he never even met us and I never got a chance to shake his hand and tell him how much I enjoyed watching him dance. He will probably never know how encouraging it was to see him out on the dance floor.

The scary thought is, who is watching me that I don't even realize and learning from my example? What kind of example am I setting?