The Last Quinceneara

I remember the last Quinceneara I was in. I remember dreading every dance practice, every run-through of the ceremony.

I remember thinking, “Kyle, you’re sixteen now…you’re not going to have to be in another Quinceneara for as long as you live. This is the last one.”

That thought got me through all those tedious hours of listening to the Kumbia Kings over and over while learning the steps to the dance the court had to perform.

Now, here I am, twenty-two years old, in Peru, a college grad…and I’m in a Quinceneara.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for the idea of the Quinceneara. It’s symbolic, it’s cultural, it’s ritual, it’s tradition, I get it, I like it.

I just don’t like to be in them.

I’m a behind-the-scenes kind of guy. My hobbies include reading, writing, jogging by myself and spending time chilling with friends and family: my life practically spells out the word low-key. My hobbies most definitely do not include learning funky-fresh new hip-hop steps to perform in front of crowds of relatives and friends.

…but I guess God doesn’t push you to do only what you like to do. Where would the fun be in that? (Because I’m sure somebody upstairs is having a pretty good laugh at my expense about all this.)

So when Sister Juanita asked me if I’d like to have the first dance with Luzmila, the girl who she’s the Madrina for, I had hesitations, but agreed.

“It’s just the first dance, right?” I told myself.

            However, after a string of miscommunications, I currently have the honor and distinction of being Luzmila’s Padrino. I found out this interesting little factoid when I was handed the invitation and noticed a version of my name: “Kile Lavis Seymaur” professionally, and permanently, printed on the expensive looking paper…under the Padrinos category.

            “Oh…wow…I’m a Padrino.” I said looking up from the invitation at Luzmila, her mom and dad. They all nodded, smiling.

            I had forgotten all about the Padrino loophole when I made that solemn oath six years ago. “Kyle…you’re not going to have to be in another Quinceneara for as long as you live…live…live…live…” The words echoed in my mind, now sounding like something from that guy who said that the Titanic could never sink.

            Is it really any surprise that I’m in one then?

            So, swallowing my pride, I bowed, held out my hand, and waltzed like I wanted nothing more in the world than to be in the last Quinceneara I’d ever be in for the rest of my life.