When one of my cousins got married a few years back, no one would dance during the reception. The music was playing, people were talking and eating, but there was an awkwardness for anyone who did decide to try and put themselves out there on the floor. The DJ played song after song, with few takers. I enjoy dancing, but whatever this techno-pop stuff was, I did not think it had the grease to loosen up my wheels. This was before the movie "13 Going on 30" -- so no, I wasn't mimicking Jennifer Garner when she got the DJ to play Thriller instead of his lukewarm selections. Back to my cousin's wedding, I told the DJ: "I bet if you play some BeeGees, you'll get these old folks out on the dance floor." I think he played "You Should Be Dancing" (well, duh!) and before you could blink, the old folks AND the young folks were cutting rugs.
My goofy dance life has been so much fun. I know for a fact that I have embarrassed many a niece, nephew or maybe especially my children. I think of all the times I've danced with people in kitchens, starting with my sister when we were kids, then my four kiddos, especially Elizabeth, our daughter. We danced up until the day she got married in our backyard...and I think a few times since. Way back before the kiddos were a gleam in their Daddy's eye, Ken and I square-danced at a church function before we even went on our first official date. I loved it that that big, muscley guy could throw me around, sashaying, swingin' and Do-Si-Do-ing. And then he had that spit-shined honkin' red truck in the parking lot, what? Ken is a natural. Before I came along in his life, it was the 70s and I've always suspected that he was a disco king. He'll still pull out a few moves on rare occasions, with much shock and awe from the party-goers. We took swing dance lessons one time, in preparation for our nephew's wedding (Stewart). While I was fumbling around and trying desperately not to break something, he was picking up every new maneuver with panache. I asked him if he'd ever done Swing dancing before, but no, of course he hadn't. And then he didn't want to go back for more lessons, because why should he? He's already got it.
My own dear Daddy, bless his heart, was no Fred Astaire, but that did not stop him from trying. At every wedding, party or major event where there was dancing, he would inevitably be out on the floor, his head bopping. He would put us in hysterics with his rendition of the "Alabama Twist." It was rather like the way he played basketball or tennis. He would win, because we were weak with laughter. And he was laughing right along with us. I learned early that chuckling at one's self is one key to a happy life. I seriously can't stop seeing his mischievous, loopy grin as he'd drag us one-by-one out there to dance with him. Ken's Dad, on the other hand...(it is obvious the apple doesn't fall far from the tree). At our daughter Elizabeth's wedding, he got out there at 87 years old, dramatically threw off his coat into the grass and danced with all the little girls. Smooth as silk and perfectly gentlemanly, I don't know that I've personally known a better dancer in all my days.
Life -- it's often called The Dance of Life. Some do it with grace, some with difficulty, some with abandon. And then there's those that fumble and fall. Maybe we all need to do a little dancing. It's sure to bring some mirth and might just bring us closer. I signed up for a dance class from some pesky Facebook ad, where you can groove all over your living room and not have to go a gym and put up with mirrors and weird steroid-addicted guys walking around. No worries that we live smack-dab in the middle of a small town, with lace at the windows. I asked Ken if he wanted to sign up for some at-home dance lessons too...he said, "Naw, I'm good. I already know how to dance." I told him that's not the point, it's so we'll dance together. Together, like the way I gee-haw with his grandkids in the kitchen. He said, "Baby, we don't need to dance. We've got Netflix!" So there's that...
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