My fathers tests showed some stress， but a proper dietrestored him to good health. Little things， then， for a while. A discproblem in the back， more heart trouble， a lens implant forcataracts . But the dancing did not stop. My mother wrote that theyhad joined a dance club. "You remember how your father loves todance."<br> Yes， I remember. My eyes filled up with remembering.<br> When my father retired， we mended our way back togetheragain; hugs and kisses were common when we visited each other.But my father did not ask me to dance. He danced with thegrandchildren; my daughters knew how to waltz before they couldread. "One， two， three and one， two， three，" my father would countout， "wont you come and waltz with me？" Sometimes my heartwould ache to have him say those words to me. But I knew my fatherwas waiting for an apology from me， and I could never find the rightwords.<br> As the time for my parents 50th anniversary approached， mybrothers and I met to plan the party. My older brother said， "Do youremember that night you wouldnt dance with him？ Boy， was he mad？I couldnt believe hed get so mad about a thing like that. rll bet youhavent danced with him since."
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