Grandma’s Got Rhythm

I admit it. I was a dancin’ fool at the JFP 2007 Best of Jackson party. I’ve lost 50 pounds since last July, and I think I look better than I have in 20 years. I bought a fabulous new outfit for the occasion and I had my high heels on. I had an absolute blast.

The next Monday at the JFP was a subdued affair. Almost all of us were nursing remnants of a hangover, and the energy was low. I commented to someone about my dancing, and she told me that I had rhythm—not particularly a news flash. Then she told me what her friend said about me: “Grandma’s got rhythm.”

I was mortified. In an instant, I went from happy, if tired, to questioning everything and feeling stupid and embarrassed. My brain was spinning: I should have acted my age and sat quietly on the sidelines watching the “young people,” as my mother would have done at my age. People were laughing at me—I probably looked silly out there on the floor. All of those people who smiled and joined me on the dance floor—encouraging me and joining my fun, I thought—were obviously just patronizing me. Will that feeling of being judged and found wanting never go away?

Then it hit me. Grandma’s got rhythm! Never mind that I’m not even a mother, much less a grandma. Technically, I suppose I’m old enough to be one, but that’s really beside the point.

Here’s the thing: I hope I’m dancing when I fall down dead. Life is a dance worth joining, and no one, ever again, is going to tell me that I can’t dance when it’s exactly what I want to do. I’ll dance. Sometimes I’ll dance all night long. Sometimes I’ll dance into the morning. I’ll be on the dance floor by myself if need be. I will listen to the music of life and I’ll join the dance. Thank God, I have rhythm. At least I won’t look like a total dork out there.

For all the times I listened to people tell me I should be reasonable, I’ll dance. For all the rotten comments I’ve had to swallow from people who didn’t understand what I wanted for my life, I’ll dance. For all the opportunities I didn’t grasp and all the chances I let go by, I’ll dance. And I’ll dance until I just can’t dance any more. And then... let the wheelchair races begin!

Grandma’s got rhythm. You bet. Just watch me, and if you’re brave enough, try to keep up.

COMMENTS

100 recent comments »