A memory that needs no adjustment

We lived in a three bedroom plantation house, but dad built an extension in the back for the boys. The living room was the size of a closet. We were ten children.

It was a daily ritual after dinner. As a child, I would sit with my knees up to my chin as dad whirled and twirled mom around the tiny living room. He would lead with the tango, the cha cha, or the waltz. It all depended on the music on the radio. As usual, mom was in dad's spotlight and giggled like a little girl.

As a young girl, I thought this behavior was bizarre. Bizarre, because it was as if for those few moments we were invisible. They were in their own private ballroom. My father, a sleek gentlemen, whisked mom off her feet. As an adult, I understand the gleam in mom's eye and the smile on dad's face. Even after ten children, they still adored each other.

My parents are a year and a few months away from their 50th wedding anniversary. I am certain that I will be there on that special day when dad takes mom by the hand and sways her in his arms to the music of yesterday.

I got a phone call yesterday from my brother Neil. My father was in the hospital. Dad you are in my thoughts...