Some of my readers might recognize this from late June. I’ve updated it with twirling pictures from the Big Event!
The bride was dancing with her father. Halfway through the dance, the planner motioned for me to join my son. Graceful with words–only in writing. Graceful in movement–definitely not. But I danced with my son. Weddings are for watching, not for words. What can anyone say on a wedding day that is more meaningful or more remembered than “I do.”
“Are you ready to twirl?” he asked.
The son twirled the mother. That said it all.
The last time we had danced was when he was much smaller. We were in the kitchen. We always danced in the kitchen. All kinds of dances. Waltz dances. Made-up dances. Twirling and dipping dances. I led. I dipped. I twirled. He followed.
My son had grown up. It was his wedding day. He led. He twirled. I followed.
After I returned to my seat, I watched all my sons dance. The little ones danced raucously. The second and third, cautiously. They danced to The Cha Cha Slide, The Cupid Shuffle, and The Electric Slide. When I looked out later during a slow dance, my 14 year old was dancing. . . dancing slowly. . . .then he dipped his pretty dance partner.
Did you read that?—He dipped her. My husband and I would occasionally dance and dip in the kitchen, but my sons? When did he become so suave and smooth?
My second son had returned to his chair when his brother walked over. “Did I see you dipping out there?” I laughed, impressed.
The second son jumped out of his chair, stunned. “He was dipping? What was he doing dipping?” he asked furiously at his younger brother. “When did you start dipping? Where’d you get the skoal can?”
A little twirling! A little comedy! Such is the life of a mother with sons!