As the time for my parents’ fiftieth anniversary approached, my brothers and I met to plan the party. My older brother said, “Do you remember that night you wouldn’t dance with him? Boy, was he mad! I couldn’t believe he’d get so mad about a thing like that. I’ll bet you haven’t danced with him since.
I did not tell him he was right.
My younger brother promised to get the band.
“Make sure they can play waltzes and polkas, I told him.
“Dad can dance to anything, he said. “Don’t you want to get down, get funky? I did not tell him that all I wanted to do was dance once more with my father.
When the band began to play after dinner, my parents took the floor. They glided around the room, inviting the others to join them. The guests rose to their feet, applauding the golden couple. My father danced with his granddaughters and then the band began to play the “Beer Barrel Polka.
“Roll out the barrel, I heard my father sing. Then I knew it was time. I knew the words I must say to my father before he would dance with me once more. I wound my way through a few couples and tapped my daughter on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, I said, almost choking on my words, “but I believe this is my dance.
My father stood rooted to the spot. Our eyes met and traveled back to that night when I was fifteen. In a trembling voice, I sang, “Let’s get those blues on the run.
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