My mother should be a dancer, but she rolls her eyes when I tell her that.  All of her fundamentalist Christian life, dancing has been as off-limits as rock and roll, Heineken, and liberal Christians, but she could be a ballerina.

My mom has the athleticism of a ballet dancer.  Her brief, but glorious, hoops career is legendary in Northeast Mississippi.  Grandma would not let my mother play basketball for the purple and gold of Itawamba High School because the team’s short pants were two feet too short.  One famous night in 1948, several Lady Indians fouled out in the third quarter of a tight game with their bitter rivals — the Houston Hilltoppers — so the coach went into the stands to beg Clarice Graham to play.  Mom slipped into a borrowed pair of boogie shoes and, in a dress that hit just below the ankles, scored several key baskets, dancing the Indians to a celebrated victory.

My mom has the precision of a ballroom dancer.  Dancers have an extraordinary sense of where their feet, legs, and arms should be at every second. Ginger could not spin with Fred if he showed up one second late.  My mother has a supernatural sense of where everyone should be and has never been less than ten minutes early to anything.  If punctuality was the key to dancing, my entire family would be touring with Alvin Ailey.

My mom has the spirit of a jitterbugger.  The best dancers are passionate. When mom giggles, which she frequently does, she begins to shake, her voice goes to a pitch audible only to dogs, her face turns a beautiful shade of red and her dark blue eyes start dancing.  Her rhythmic exuberance would make Beyonce jealous.

I often irritate my mother by trying to get her to dance with me.  I point out that King David danced, the psalmists tell us to praise God with dance, and Ecclesiastes assures us that there is a time to dance, but she will not waltz, tango, or foxtrot with her son.

Angela Monet writes, “Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.”

Though she will not admit it, mom hears the music and knows she should be dancing.

Some can only remember the jigs their now-departed mothers danced.  Some mothers are too far away to two-step with their sons.  Only a fortunate few can put their arms around their mothers and dance.

On Mother’s Day, be thankful for every playful step your mother ever took. Any excuse is good enough to trip the light fantastic with our moms, even if it is only in our imaginations.