A Mother’s Dance

Perhaps it was June’s night sky or the music echoing through the air.

Perhaps it was the inspiration of the message pumping through the speakers.

Perhaps it was thousands of people singing and dancing along with the band.

Or perhaps, just perhaps, it was the memory of her teenage years – being at the same venue in practically the same spot on the lawn where she had sat so many times with her friends before.

It didn’t matter.

Whatever the reason, she let herself go.

For a few hours, she danced. She sang. She let her inhibitions, her burdens, her everything, go.

And she hoped upon hope that her son, standing beside her, took notice.

She hoped he could see a mother who wasn’t always so stressed. Who wasn’t always setting the rules. Who could let things go at least once in a while.

And notice, he did.

“Mom,” the boy said, “YOU danced!”

“I did,” she said.

“That was really embarrassing,” he added.

And that’s okay.

Because, embarrassing or not, he still got to see the woman (not the mom, not the businesswoman) for what she really is.

And one day, he will cherish that memory.

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