“Mom!”
My 14-year-old gave me a Look, not unlike many Looks I’ve dished out myself over the years. It was the kind of look that says, Stop. Right now.
We were in a shoe store, on a mission to buy nice, practical shoes for my middle-aged feet — something that I could wear to work with my nice, practical pants. But those middle-aged feet couldn’t stay planted that day. I shimmied down the aisle, like a Soul Train line dancer, to the horror of my teenager.
In my defense, they were playing Sylvester’s “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real).” What? I was supposed to just stand there?
These days, I find plenty of opportunities to get my groove on. Grocery stores, big box stores, ice cream shops: they all seem to be spinning my kind of tunes. (Does that mean I’m officially old?) My husband will playfully walk away, putting some distance between himself and this dancing nut.
“This isn’t a disco!” he’ll say with mock exasperation.
Maybe not. But don’t play Earth, Wind & Fire and expect people to stand still. Just saying.
Recently having crossed into my fifties, I’m still self-conscious about plenty of things, but a wary glance from a stranger at Walgreens isn’t one of them. If there’s good music, I’m moving to the beat. My family teases me about my impromptu dances appearing on security-camera footage. “They’re going to laugh,” they warn me, rolling their eyes. Well, good! I hope it does add a little laughter to someone’s workday; couldn’t we all use more of that?
In some ways, it feels as though I’m making up for lost time — all those middle school and high school dances when I stood awkwardly in a cluster of kids or sat on the bleachers. Afraid of looking silly in front of friends, or a date, or (most ridiculous of all!) kids I barely knew. I suppose a lot of us felt that way. How many good songs — good times — did we allow to pass us by?
Plus, how many more years will I have to dance? I muse on such questions to the dismay of my husband, who insists that kind of talk is bleak. Not at all, I say. Right now, there’s no reason for me to think I won’t be moving my feet for many years to come. But you never know, that’s the thing. And that’s the bittersweet blessing of growing older: now you know that you never know.
Bearing that in mind, looking silly seems like a small price to pay.
So if you see someone shaking their booty while on a Target run, or bouncing to Blondie while choosing cereal, go ahead and laugh. It’s OK. They probably won’t mind.
(But their teenager might.)
— Kelly Close
Kelly Close promises to never chaperone a school dance. Her work has appeared in the Chicken Soup for the Soul series and on cleveland.com. Originally from Pittsburgh, she lives, works and writes in North Royalton, Ohio.