Wallflower

Many years ago - a lifetime ago - I had surgery to repair the damage I did to my knee after jumping from a swing. More to the point, I had surgery to repair the damage my landing did to my knee. There was a lot of rehabilitation, most of which was done at home with little or no special equipment save my mom's stationary bike. It seems that there was a little problem with my medical insurance at the time - like the fact that it didn't exist.
Fast forward twenty years to last Friday night. I stood around and watched while other people danced to the band that we had hired to play for our end-of-year fete for my son's school. I tapped my foot. I bobbed my head. I may even have snapped my fingers to the beat. I did not dance. It wasn't because the music was no good. The music was fine. The band was a lot of fun. They played James Brown and Chuck Berry and Santana. It was a party, after all.
But I didn't dance. I found this significant for this reason: Twenty years ago, as I was trying to get myself upright after knee surgery, I was at a bar with some friends. They had taken me out for some adult beverages to help me get over the fact that I was still hobbling around on crutches, and probably would be for some weeks to come. This would make a better story if I could remember exactly what song it was that moved me to my feet. I remember that it was Mowtown, but not a lot after that. The dance floor at this bar was set down a short flight of stairs and made a kind of pit in one corner of the place. I hopped over to the stairs and out onto the floor. Very gingerly at first, I began to test my weight on my reconstructed knee. I had a lot of liquid courage and painkiller in me, so I might not have noticed if anything was explicitly wrong unless there had been blinding pain or jets of blood. As it turns out, there was none of that. Just the joy of shaking my backside to music that moved me.
Bottom line: I danced before I could walk again.
So why didn't I dance last week? I'm old and tired. I was preoccupied with the goings-on around me. I was waiting for just the right song. These are fine excuses, but they are just that: excuses. I was waiting for a moment that just wouldn't come, to paraphrase Mister Springsteen. In hindsight, I'm terrifically sad, since I know how few and far between those moments really are. I wish I would have danced.