When I first heard Luther Vandross’s song, “Dance With My Father Again,” I never, ever entertained the thought that it would have such an impact on my heart. I’m going to go back in time: On April 24, 1959, I was born to a loving young couple and a two-year-old big brother. A small town in Louisiana, where wooden floors were a dancer’s delight!
I am 61 now, and I still hear stories from my elders about how my father loved to dance. On one occasion, he decided that he was going to bring me to the club. (I was 6 months old!) He danced with me, as he showed off his first baby girl. Well, shortly after that, at the same club, a man shot and killed my father. He was 25; my mother was 19. Although I don’t remember him, I feel his love.
Gun violence is why, this day, I yearn to “dance with my father again.”