2. Soon, I found myself in my old f***ly home holding that . But instead of a crimson ribbon, it was now tied with a one. And with that blue ribbon came another mystery.
父亲的等待
A Dance with Dad
佚名／Anonymous
I am dancing with my father at my parents’50th-wedding-anniversary celebration. The band is playing an old-fashioned waltz as we move gracefully across the floor. His hand on my waist is as guiding as it always was and he hums the tune 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. All the years that I refused to dance with him melt away now. And those early times come back.
I remember when I was almost three and my father came home from work, swooped 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, “She’s just caught the rhythm of the dance!Our dinner can wait.” Then he sang out,“Roll out the barrel, let’s have a barrel of fun, ” and I sang back, “Let’s get those blues on the run.”
We danced through the years. One night when I was 15, lost in some painful, adolescent mood. My father put on a stack of records and teased me to dance with him. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s get those blues on the run.”