I am dancing with my father at my parents fiftieth wedding anniversary. The band is playing an old-fashioned waltz as we move gracefully1 across the floor. His hand on my waist is as guiding as it always was, and he hums the tune2 to himself in a steady, youthful way. Around and around we go, laughing and nodding to the other dancers. We are the best dancers on the floor, they tell us. My father squeezes my hand and smiles at me.
As we continue to dip and sway, I remember a time when I was almost three, and my father came home from work, swooped3 me into his arms and began to dance me around the table. My mother laughed at us, told us dinner would get cold. But my father said, Shes just caught the rhythm of the dance! Dinner can wait! And then he sang out Roll out the barrel, lets have a barrel of fun, and I sang back, Lets get those blues4 on the run. That night he taught me to polka, waltz and do the fox trot5 while dinner waited.
We danced through the years. When I was five, my father taught me to shuffle6 off to Buffalo7. Later we won a dance contest at a Campfire Girls Round-Up. Then we learned to jitterbug at the USO place downtown. once my father caught on to the steps, he danced with everyone in the hall the women passing out doughnuts, even the GIs. We all laughed and clapped our hands for my father, the dancer.
One night when I was fifteen, lost in some painful, adolescent mood, my father put on a stack of records and teased me to dance with him. Cmon, he said, lets get those blues on the run. I turned away from him and hugged my pain closer than before. My father put his hand on my shoulder, and I jumped out of the chair screaming, Dont touch me! Dont touch me! I am sick and tired of dancing with you! The hurt on his face did not escape me, but the words were out, and I could not call them back. I ran to my room sobbing8 hysterically9.
We did not dance together after that night. I found other partners, and my father waited up for me after dances, sitting in his favorite chair, clad in his flannel10 pajamas11. Sometimes he would be asleep when I came in, and I would wake him saying, If you were so tired, you should have gone to bed.
No, no, hed say. I was just waiting for you.
Then wed lock up the house and go to bed.
My father waited up for me all through my high school and college years while I danced my way out of his life.
One night, shortly after my first child was born, my mother called to tell me my father was ill. A heart problem, she said. Now, dont come. Three hundred miles. It would upset your father. We will just have to wait. Ill let you know.
My fathers tests showed some stress, but a proper diet restored him to good health. Little things, then, for a while. A disc problem in the back, more heart trouble, a lens implant12 for cataracts13. But the dancing did not sTOP. My mother wrote that they had joined a dance club. You remember how your father loves to dance.
Yes, I remember. My eyes filled up with remembering.
When my father retired14, we mended our way back together again; hugs and kisses were common when we visited each other. But my father did not ask me to dance. He danced with the grandchildren; my daughters knew how to waltz before they could read.
One, two, three and one, two, three, my father would count out, wont you come and waltz with me? Sometimes my heart would ache to have him say those words to me. But I knew my father was waiting for an apology from me, and I could never find the right words.
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 wouldnt dance with him? Boy, was he mad! I couldnt believe hed get so mad about a thing like that. Ill bet you havent 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. Dont you want to get down, get funky15? 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 glided16 around the room, inviting17 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, Lets get those blues on the run.
My father bowed and said, Oh, yes. Ive been waiting for you.
Then he started to laugh, and we moved into each others arms, pausing for a moment so we could catch once more the rhythm of the dance.
在爸爸妈妈五十周年结婚纪念日那天我与爸爸跳舞了。乐队演奏着旧式的华尔兹，大家在地板上优美地滑动着。他的手环着我的腰，像以往一样引导着我，平和而又充满活力地哼着调子。大家跳了一圈又一圈，不时地向其他舞者笑着点头致意。他们说大家是舞场中最棒的舞者。爸爸握着我的手，露出了微笑。
大家继续着舞步，这个时候我想起在我三岁那年，爸爸下班回家，一把将我搂在怀里，围着桌子开始跳舞。妈妈笑着说，饭都要凉了。但爸爸却说：她刚好跟上舞蹈的步伐，饭可以等会再吃。然后，他开始哼唱：Roll out the barrel, let's have a barrel of fun。我就唱道：Let's get those blues on the run。那天晚上，他教我跳波尔卡、华尔兹，还教我跳狐步舞。那晚大家连饭都没吃。
大家天天都要跳舞。在我五岁时，爸爸教我跳shuffle off to Buffalo。后来，大家在露营少女团夏令营中，取得了舞蹈比赛的冠军。大家还去美国劳军联合组织所在的地方表演吉特巴舞。每次爸爸进入舞池之后，都会与所有些人跳舞，与在场的女性们旋转，甚至还有士兵。大家都为爸爸欢呼、鼓掌，由于他是一个真的的舞者。
我十五岁那年的一个晚上，可能因为青春期的多愁善感，我很悲伤。爸爸拿出一堆唱片，非要我跟他跳舞。来吧，他说，Let's get those blues on the run。我没理他，一个人承受着我们的痛苦。他走过来把手放在我的肩上。我跳下椅子，对他吼道：别碰我！别碰我！我讨厌和你跳舞！我看到了他脸上受伤的表情，但话已出口，我没办法收回。我痛哭着跑回了房间。
从那之后，我再也没和爸爸跳过舞。我有了其他舞伴，而爸爸一直会穿着法兰绒睡衣，坐在自己最喜欢的椅子上，等我回家。有时当我回来，他已经睡着了。我便把他叫醒，告诉他：既然你这么累，就该早点去睡觉。
他一直会说：不，没。我在等你呢。
然后，大家就锁上房门，各自去睡了。
在我上高中和大学的几年里，每次我出去跳舞，爸爸都会一直等我回家。
在我的第一个孩子出生不久的一个晚上，妈妈打电话告诉我说爸爸病了：是心脏的问题。目前不要过来，三百英里太远了，你爸爸会生气的。等等吧，有了结果我会对你说。
爸爸的检查显示他重压有的过重，不过适当的饮食使他恢复了健康。只不过暂时的小问题。后背椎间盘查题，心脏问题，白内障晶体移植。但他从未停止跳舞。妈妈写信说他们参加了一个舞蹈会所。你还记得你爸爸多么喜欢跳舞吗？
是的，我记得。我的眼中充满了对过去的回忆。
爸爸退休之后，大家又聚在了一块。每次见面，大家都要相互拥抱，亲吻。但爸爸从未让我陪他跳舞。他和外孙女们跳舞。我的女儿们还不识字就了解如何跳华尔兹。
1、2、三，1、2、三，爸爸一直数着舞步。能来和我跳支华尔兹吗？每次我期望爸爸对我说出这句话的时候，心里都会感到阵痛。但我了解爸爸在等我的道歉，而我一直非常难找到适合的语言。
而伴随爸爸妈妈结婚五十周年龄念日的到来，我的兄弟和我计划为他们举办一次舞会。我哥哥说：还记得你拒绝陪他跳舞的那个晚上吗？天哪，他简直疯了。真不敢相信他为了此事竟这样伤心。从那将来，你一定没和他跳过舞吧。
我没回答，但他说得没错。
弟弟说他可以解决一支乐队。
我告诉他：必须要保证他们可以演奏华尔兹和波尔卡舞曲。
他说：父亲可以跳任何一支曲子。你不想跳吗？是否非常紧张啊？我没告诉他，我只不过想和爸爸再跳一次舞。
晚餐过后，乐队开始演奏，爸爸妈妈步入了舞池。他们在房间里翩翩起舞，并邀请别的人加入。客大家都站起来，一齐为这对金婚夫妇喝彩。爸爸开始和他的外孙女跳舞，乐队演奏起了Beer Barrel Polka。
我听见爸爸在唱：Roll out the barrel。我了解目前是最好机会。我了解要想让爸爸和我跳舞，我需要说些什么。我穿过人群，拍了拍女儿的肩膀。
对不起。我说，有一种窒息的感觉。我想这是我的舞曲。
爸爸呆了一样站在那里。大家都注视这他们，思绪飞回到我十五岁的那个夜晚。我用略带颤抖的声音唱道：Let's get those blues on the run。
爸爸鞠躬道：噢，当然。我一直在等你。
说完，他大笑起来。大家挽着彼此的胳膊，停了一下，以便跟上舞曲的步伐。
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