Dancing with my Father

It has been years since I could listen to the oldies. That's all my father listened to during our times together. Today I decided to make a memory with my father that I always envisioned....today we danced. Oh yes, he was light on his feet when he was a part of this world. Who knew a hardened mechanic in his clunky work boots would be or could be such; but it is true.  I would watch him dance with his wife on their parquet floor in effortless twirls and shuffles of his large feet..dark denim pants and snap down plaid western shirt. I remember his smile and I remember too, so embarrassed, dancing with him in the faint-wisp memories of my 19th year.
Today we danced, he and I, again...only this time we danced, his smiling photograph framed in fancy silver flourishes( he would not have approved of this frame). I  held him to my heart as we twirled and twisted to the oldies but goodies. The same ones that wafted from his noisy garage that year. I can still smell the freshly cut wood and axle grease in the air...
His hands were huge and rough in mine today and he smiled at me lovingly as we danced, until all of the madness melted away, and the hurt was replaced by this memory of us two and all that there was between us was the
dancing...