They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but what about teaching old men to waltz?

Thirteen of us are attempting just that so that we won’t embarrass our wives and daughters at an upcoming social event. Now some of that group of 13 might take offense at being labeled “old,” but several of us are nearing 60, so that qualifies in my book.

When I was first informed that I am required to attend five waltz lessons, I was not exactly keen to the mandate, but when I was told the lessons would take place on Sunday afternoons, I began to sulk.

Sunday afternoon, you see, is when I play golf with my buddies. As we all know, Sunday afternoons for the past several months have been mostly rainy, snowy and/or cold and not ideal golfing weather.

“Maybe the weather will be like this when the lessons begin and I wouldn’t have been able to play anyway,” I thought on one of those crummy-weather Sundays prior to the start of the lessons.

Apparently, the stars were aligned against me as, on the appointed day, the sun was shining and the thermometer was rising. I drove past the golf course on the way home after church and looked longingly at the crowd waiting to tee off. Poor me. Poor pitiful me.

I went on home and sulked some more, killing time until the lessons began. “Why do they have to have them on Sunday? Or if they HAVE to be on Sunday, why not earlier or later so I could at least play nine holes?”

That was three weeks ago.

I have to admit that my attitude has changed dramatically. I am actually having fun, learning the waltz with my wife and daughter. Quality time.

The daughters and their escorts picked it up in no time. Our instructor, Loretta O’Donald, told us it was harder for the parents, so we would have to practice at home during the week.

She didn’t come right out and say it’s because we’re old, but we all knew that’s what she meant.

I don’t know about the other dads, but I’ve been taking this thing seriously. My wife and I were on vacation last week (that’s why I didn’t have a column Wednesday) and we went over our steps every day for at least an hour.

I spent some extra time on the “Debs and Dads” waltz because it’s more involved than the “Moms and Dads, Debs and Escorts” waltz.

I’m not sure if it’s easier waltzing by yourself than with a partner. When you’re by yourself, you certainly don’t step on you partner’s feet, but then you don’t have her there to whisper clues as to which step is next.

Balance, box, walk, walk around turn. Three times. That’s the moms and dads. Sound easy? Try it.

Balance, box, walk, walk around turn, spiral, balance, left turning box, waltz away, twirl vine, feather finish. Two times. Sound a little more confusing?

It is.

We learned (?) the final step this past Sunday. I woke up at 3:30 Monday morning with the sequence going through my head.

“What comes after the spiral?”

I didn’t go back to sleep.

Monday afternoon, while waiting in our driveway on my wife and daughter to go out to dinner, I decided to get in a little practice.

So there on the blacktop, I was balancing, boxing, walking and twirling. I happened to glance over to my neighbor’s pasture about 100 yards away and there he was. Watching.

I didn’t get the chance to explain what I was doing, so he probably thinks that I’ve finally gone over the edge.

The big day is still a couple of weeks away, so we’ve got time to polish our moves.

At the end of Sunday’s lesson, Loretta threw us a curve.

She demonstrated a dance she said the girls wanted to learn after the waltzing.

I think she called it the tush-push.

For some strange reason, I decided to give it a try.

That’s one new trick this old dog won’t be taught. I don’t want to get confused and start pushing my tush when I’m supposed to be feather finishing.

Cody Sossamon (cody@gaffneyledger.com) is publisher of The Gaffney Ledger.