A Time to Dance
Most of the regular readers of this blog know my daytime job is in home physical therapy. If you’re not a regular reader . . . now you know.
Yesterday I was seeing an older African-American gentleman who was recently in the hospital for a significant illness. When I walked into the living room he was seated on his sofa, eating his lunch. I asked him how he was feeling.
Instead of verbally answering me, he jumped up and did a little dance. His enthusiasm spoke volumes. And for eighty-something he had some pretty groovy moves. I was so happy I was going to dance with him but it is a well-documented fact that white boys got no rhythm so I refrained. I didn’t want to embarrass myself or him.
There’s no point to this post, no life lesson to be learned except maybe that attitude is everything and sometimes it’s okay to dance.
But for me, I’ll keep my own groovy moves to the privacy of my home. My kids get a real kick out of them . . . and Jen just rolls her eyes.