My Mother Loved Dancing

Bruce Nussbaum
Sep 3, 2018 · 2 min read

My mother couldn’t keep away from my dad. I remember them every night standing close at the sink, after dinner, she washing, he drying, whispering to each other. Intimately. I was not invited to join. Ever.

She touched my dad too. “Hen (Henry), taste this,” touching his arm. “Hen, you’ve got something on your chin,” touching his face. “Hen, help me with this on,” turning to get her blouse zipped up. “Hen, here’s the shopping list,” closing her hand on his. “Hen, let me put those drops in your eyes,” as he went blind.

But it was when they danced that I knew they loved to touch. The first time I saw them dance together, it was like water flowing. I was struggling with the lindy and they danced ballroom like in the movies. I was struck dumb. They just floated across the floor.they were two as one.

My mother’s face glowed as she moved in my father’s arms. As he led her through the complex steps, across the crowded floor, right through the mundane here-and-now to the state of joy.

I never saw that face off the dance floor. I looked for it when I brought my homework home to her. I looked for it when I chopped onions in the kitchen cooking with her. I looked for it during the day playing. I saw kindness and love in her face, but more often frustration, exasperation, anger. Emotions of a struggling mother who, I later learned, wanted to be building something bigger than a family.

But I did learn about love. Intimate love. How it was different from other kinds of love. Where you go to find it. How long it can last. How sweet it is. My mother taught me that.

    Bruce Nussbaum

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    My book, Creative Intelligence: Harnessing the Power to Create, Connect and Inspire, is available now. http://creativeintelligencebook.com