We met at a dance in the school cafeteria.
I was a junior, he a senior.
A mutual friend named Anthony introduced us.
We shared a dance. One.
After that, for the entire school year, Tommy Waters asked me out. Every Friday.
He would call on Friday and want me to go out with him that evening. I told him no. I told him he couldn’t ask me out at the last minute. It wasn’t respectful. I had no way of knowing at the time that he never knew until Friday evening if he would be allowed to use the family car or not.
I managed to run into him in late July. (Another story for another time.)
I had moved. He asked for my new phone number.
He called. This time he called on a Tuesday and asked if I would go out with him on Friday.
I was now a senior in high school. When it came time for homecoming, Tom took me. It was our second time to dance. But not our last.
Eventually we married, raised a family, and shared wonderful experiences too numerous to mention here.
We danced with each other at our daughters’ weddings and I have precious pictures of Tom dancing with each of his girls.
The girls were grown with homes of their own when we decided to take square dance lessons. We made lifelong friends at “The Barn.” That was followed by round dance lessons. Round dancing is, in essence, cued ballroom dancing.
From this post you may get the idea that “dance” was central to our lives.
You would be wrong. Dance has been a thread. Not the fabric of who we are. Or were.
There is a song called I Hope You Dance. I particularly like the Ronan Keating version. (YOU CAN WATCH IT ON YOUTUBE HERE)
I often think of it as my life song.
Perhaps that video will show up at my funeral one day. Who knows?
The song says to never lose your sense of wonder. To never take one single breath for granted. It says when you have the choice to sit it out or dance, dance.
December 18th is my wedding anniversary. And to Tom, “I trust you’re dancing.”
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