As children, we were always surrounded with literally, the sound of music. The small portable record player on which we played the smaller, black vinyl 45s, the larger console which contained a hidden record player and speakers-both in one piece of furniture-to the CDs of the 90s and early 200s, we absorbed the music of the day. The small and larger vinyl records, the polycarbonate compact discs, and the different implements which played the timelessness of songwriters and musicians. The musical notes on sheet music, the different rhythms of the day, the poetic and soulful lyrics, and the introduction of Rock ‘n Roll filled our lives and created the passage to our musical education. Long after the “Big Bopper,” Buddy Holly, and Ritchie Valens died in an airplane crash in 1959, the magic of their style and music lived on in records, CDs, and streaming capabilities. Yet, what I remember the most and with the fondest memories is dancing to the beats of the day with my father. 

He was the dancer and my favorite partner. Mother had no rhythm at all, except on the dance floor with Daddy. His prowess in this scenario somehow made her appear to have a degree of rhythmic talent. He would lead her around gracefully across the small living room space, holding both hands, or just one, and twirling her artfully while we watched seated on the edge of the couch—patiently waiting our turns. 

On special occasions, especially on Christmas and New Year’s, the four of us would swing about in that small space and alternate partners. Sissy and I danced together to the sounds of Elvis and others, and I always would lead. (A bad habit I retain even today.) Yet, we all knew that Daddy was my favorite partner. He taught me how to swing, two-step, cha-cha, twist, and slow dance. I believe I have his unique ability to recognize the rhythmic beat of any song and like him I love to dance. 

Always a gentleman, he was patient with us and was always smiling when he danced. In quiet moments when dancing was not on the menu, he would listen to jazz, gospel or soulful love songs. His favorite jazz quartet was Dave Brubeck and his famous “Take Five.” I easily recognize the tones of the saxophone, the beat of the drum solo, the smooth sounds of the song he loved and which I love as well. If you asked any of my siblings the question, “What was Dad’s favorite song?” each of us would simultaneously answer, “Dave Brubeck’s Take Five.”

However, this was not a song to which we usually danced as we gravitated toward the current Rock ‘n Roll solo and group acts of the day—Elvis, The Big Bopper, Chuck Berry, The Coasters, The Platters, Fats Dominoe, the Everly Brothers and many more. We watched Elvis’ initial performance on the Ed Sullivan Show. We went to see Jerry Lee Lewis at the Armory, and in our house, we danced. 

One of us always recorded our dancing adventures on our 35mm camera to retain the moments in perpetuity. I have repeatedly watched our father swing us around graciously on that ancient celluloid with awe and pleasure and wonder where that film is today. 

The bluesy sounds of Elvis or the rhythmic beat of the Teddy Bears, he was my very own Fred Astaire. One of my regrets is that there was no music at my wedding, and I was not able to have that treasured father-daughter dance with my father. 

Years later, I remember him dancing with Sissy at my brother’s wedding. He has his arms carefully placed on her shoulder and in her hand. She bent her red curly head while she watched her feet, making sure she performed the right step.  He is looking out across the room, smiling and confident. 

The dance of his life will always be the dance of my life. I hold close to my heart the specials memories of those evening dances in our living room, twirling around in petticoats and velvet.

I continue to wait for a man who can dance as well as my father. My very own and beloved Fred Astaire.