Dear Reader,
"May I please have this dance?"
Two months after my father died when I was home visiting my mother, some of her friends stopped by and invited us out to dinner. They were going to the Elmo Club, a local supper club, and afterwards they were heading to the big senior dance in Platteville to listen to the Busch's Swing Band.
My mother immediately declined, insisting it was too soon for her to be seen out in public. But I knew what the alternative was, the two of us sitting in the living room watching television and eating a liverwurst sandwich. So I coaxed Mom along, reminding her how much I loved to go to the Elmo Club. My parents used to take me there when I was a kid and my dad always ordered a kiddy cocktail for me.
"Couldn't we just go for an early dinner Mom, and then come right home?"
And she finally agreed.
At the Elmo club, I knew all of the women sitting around the table, most of them were moms of the kids I used to play with and if I didn't show up on time for dinner, my mother would call one of them looking for me. The 78-year-old woman sitting across from me was one of my teachers in high school. So it did feel a little strange at first--switching roles, but now here we were having dinner together, all talking on the same level as if it had always been this way.
The Elmo Club didn't disappoint me. The food was just as good as I remembered, though I didn't order my usual kiddy cocktail. Yes, it was a great idea going out to dinner. Mom looked a lot more relaxed, until someone mentioned the senior dance again. But before my mother could refuse, there was kind of a group intervention. All of Mom's friends were widowed too, and they insisted she needed a night out. So after a little coaxing, we were all on our way to the dance.
(I’ll continue my story tomorrow, or if you want to read it in advance, click here.
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]
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