A DANCE TO REMEMBER 

It was Christmas Eve 1962, 🎄 the year my baby brother threw a Christmas package across the room like a frisbee. Wrapped in festive Santa paper, the squared-shaped gift was a dead giveaway---it was a vinyl record. As soon as it hit the ground, the package made an odd clanking sound. My mother  cried out, "Oooh, no!" 😮 She ran over and picked it up. Inside, the broken pieces jingled like loose change. 

 After she carefully removed the wrapping paper, the   cover photo appeared. A new release by Nat King Cole, one of my mother's favorite singers. She never referred to him as Nat or Mr. Cole, it was always his full name: Nat King Cole. 

 My mother brushed her hand over his photo, sighing out, "He has the best bedroom voice of any singer." 💖 That had me baffled. The only voice I'd ever heard in my mother's bedroom was my dad's. 

 

When she slide the record out, it looked like a sandwich, a big bite taken out of one side. Determined to hear the music, my mother placed the damaged record on the turntable and then carefully positioned the needle. That's when I got to hear Mr. Cole sing. 

Don't know how Nat King Cole sounded in the bedroom, but in the living room that night, he was a hit. The music 🎶 made my parents stand up, and after embracing each other, they began to slow dance. When the singer's voice crooned from the speakers---oh my gosh---how it made me smile.

My mother passed away in 2011. Eight years later, my dad joined her. I now see them, as the young couple they were in that living room, dancing in heaven with Nat King Cole, singing to them in person. 💃🕺

 

Anna J. Wise

Author: Mercy Me