When I was a teen, I used to dance all the time, with my friends, at school dances. I loved it. When we grew older, and could drive across the border, into Hull, Québec, we'd go to night clubs, where we could drink legally and we could dance 'til the wee hours of the morning.
I danced at staff Christmas parties. Sometimes, my wife and I would leave our parties, which were often held at convention centres, where more than one party was being held, and we'd crash the other parties, dance on their floors, mingle with people we didn't know.
I danced at weddings, including my own. My wife and I loved to dance.
But I don't dance very much, these days. I blame my health, the arthritis in my bones and joints. Maybe, I danced too much in my youth, danced out all the dance that was left in me.
I still dance, a little, around the house, when my kids are listening to their music, and I want to shake it, briefly, in front of them. I'll wiggle a bit, as I clean the house, with my own music blaring through speakers.
I loved to watch my kids dance, but they don't dance as much as they used to. One quit dance classes and the other cut back to two classes per week. She no longer competes, didn't even participate in the end-of-year recital.
It makes me sad. Dancing shows us that we're alive. My kids are way too young to slow down. Maybe I am, too.
Maybe, the next time I sing at a Karaoke night, I'll dance, too. Not too much: my feet can't take the pounding. My knees get sore. I sweat, and I get tired easily.
But maybe, it's worth it.
Happy Friday!
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