I have my first real vivid memories from when I was about 4 or 5 years old. They are of my Mom and Dad dancing in the living room. Saturday mornings my Mom cleaned house and would load the record player with at least 6 LP albums. There was always Elvis and Englebert Humperdink, and a few others I can't recall. She would vacuum and sing and wiggle to the beat. But as soon as The Last Waltz would come on my Dad would swoop my Mom up into his arms, she'd drop the vacuum, and they would dance. I remember the way the sun used to beam into the room, the rays were filled with floating dust particles that to my young eyes looked like glitter and sparkles. I remember sitting on the couch watching them glide across the room. They would smile and laugh and speak to each other with words only their eyes could interpret. Even at that young age I knew what romance was.
We are just a danc-y family. There is always music at family gatherings and Elvis is always on the play list, despite my brother-in-law's groans. As soon as one of his songs starts, we begin to sing-- we all know the words. My Mom starts to sway while she's doing the dishes and grabs who is ever close enough to do a little Lindy step with. It doesn't matter where you are or what time it is. When the music moves you, you have to go with it. My husband and I even took lessons when we first started to date. We practiced many nights in our living room and kitchen. And to this day when a West Coast beat comes on, he reaches for my hand to entice me into a swing.
And while my folks have had their share of health issues as they've aged, I don't think they have ever stopped dancing. They may move a little slower and prefer the cheek to cheek songs now, but I know that when their song starts to play my Dad reaches for her hand, and they still speak silent words that only their hearts understand.
