Dad spontaneously shared a memory with us the other day—we didn’t have to prompt him. A couple days before, we had been reminiscing about his youth—then this memory surfaced from a deep and joyful place simply out of the blue as we were on the deck enjoying the summer day:
[But first a backstory: Dad used to dance. It is a part of family lore how Dad could tear up a dance floor. Mom, not so much; so she left it up to him much of the time to find his partners. Both Gloria and Kristin have very fond memories of Dad leading them across a dance floor—swing-style. BIG BAND swing style. Once he married mom, the only time I believe Dad had the chance to dance would have been at family gatherings—most especially weddings. There are just a few memories I have of Dad looking like he was having the time of his life dancing (and he was; in my recollection, those would be among the rarest moments when he was in true joy and wasn’t afraid to show it. The whole “Dad dancing” thing was so out of character from who he usually was, this serious and taciturn farmer, which made it even more oddly fascinating and mesmerizing…and fun.). And he REALLY could dance!]
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Now the memory he shared from the “way back:”
Some of the highlights of high school (which would have been smack in the mid-fifties) for Dad, this hard-working farm kid only tolerating time in a classroom until he could get out to do what he knew he was always going to do for the rest of his life, were the Friday night dances. He remembers specifically a Gamache girl, who seems to have been a regular partner for him, dancing a time or two at Marquette High School dances—a Catholic school. He remembers a priest, who was the chaperone roaming the floor, cautioning him to “Take it easy now Wally.” (I REALLY wish I knew exactly what that meant!—but I digress.)
Dad shared that others would throw coins at them!
Me: What Dad? They threw coins at you? Was that a good thing? Or were they trying to tell you something different?
Dad: It was a good thing. That was something that people would do if they liked how you were dancing. They would throw nickels, and quarters, and pennies.
M: Did YOU ever throw coins at other dancers?
D: Yes, if they deserved it. If they were good.
M: And you would collect them when you were done?
D: Yes. That was for us to keep. We’d split it. They threw coins at me all the time.
M: Huh. Well isn’t THAT something. All the time, huh?
And yet you chose farming, Dad. Go figure.
D: I remember this one time this guy came up to us after one dance and wanted all kinds of information from us. I didn’t want any part of that so I left to keep dancing. She gave him all the information, our names and ages and stuff like that.
M: Who was that guy? Was he some kind of reporter or something?
D: Must have been. All I know is I didn’t want any part of that.
M: Hmm. Do you remember reading anything about it? Were there any photographs taken? You two must have really been impressive if someone wanted to write you up (this, I’m assuming, was a good thing!).
D: I don’t know. I didn’t care about that stuff.
I think Dad could have been on American Bandstand! (For the young’uns…sigh…just Google it!).
Then Dad shared that at Sunday Mass, when he was an alter boy, that same priest chaperone, who was officiating the Mass, said to him “I see you did yourself well on Friday, Wally.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a double entendre. I didn’t asked but assumed he meant the money. I hope he meant the money!
There will be more stories shared about Dad and dancing—this is how and where, after-all, he met mom.
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Whenever we bring up his dancing, he smiles.
And he should—he was able to lose himself on the dance floor. Exactly like a dancer should. Exactly like a dancer does. He’s never talked about taking lessons or being taught; and we didn’t know him to be very athletic—dancing, however, just seemed to be in his blood. And if you could have seen him, you would have seen, in those moments, a joyfully free spirit without a care in the world. (So… out of character? or true character???)
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Dad…was a dancer.
I wished I could have seen Dad dance more. He deserved to dance more.
And yet, when I think about it…
…he does, still, dance—
just to different music now.
T plus 15 days and dancing…er, counting.
Go Wally.