Who says ‘women-of-a-certain-age’ shouldn’t dance?  Well, probably most people, starting with our children and spouses, then quickly moving to strangers who witness the act of attempted dancing in public places, and most definitely the young, beautiful people who the world belongs to these days.

And they could be right.

But that didn’t stop us.

We proved everyone wrong over the weekend, returning to our humble beginnings – college – where we refused to be judged and danced the day away at any and every chance we could find, often creating the opportunity on our own terms, in our own space.

It was homecoming weekend and my first return to campus since graduation, three decades ago, a reunion years in the making but inevitable and punctuated by a persistent friend who would not accept NO for an answer the first fifteen times she asked.  I finally said yes and now the day is part of our story.

Upon reflection, the dancing was initiated even before we got to campus.  My day started by meeting two sorority sisters in a mall parking lot in order to carpool for the two-hour drive.  As soon as I pulled into a vacant spot at 8:15 am, I heard music, blaring.

I followed the fun, funky tunes with my ears where I immediately noticed red balloons and people in pep-rally formation celebrating the grand opening of a gym. I obliged and did a mini shimmy as I stepped out of my car in anticipation of our soon-to-be road trip.

The sisters arrived, and as we greeted one another, a spontaneous, full-throttle jig ensued in the parking lot.  It definitely wasn’t pretty or elegant, but it was a Happy Dance at the opportunity to be young and uninhibited for an afternoon, to spend the time with people who ‘knew you when’ and never judged you for the mistakes a young college sophomore might make.  The love was unconditional and 30-plus years of friendship were expressed on the outskirts of a new gym and a Dick’s Sporting Goods store in a suburban mall parking lot.

It was a spectacular fall drive, void of drama but filled with amazing foliage along the road now less traveled but still all too familiar.  We took time out from our catching-up- conversation to admire the colors nature provided to accompany our trip, oohing and awing as we needed to come up for air amid simultaneously reminiscing about our glory days and updating one another on our current lives.

Arriving on campus, we found another parking lot to drop anchor for the day and immediately encountered…more sisters!  If not for my seatbelt, I would have danced again at the joy of our chance rendezvous; little did I know, the boogying would come later.

We took a quick jaunt across campus, a place once so familiar to me but now appearing like a foreign city with neat, newly structured buildings; additionally, I struggled with the original buildings and space still intact but somehow altered, causing one sister’s spouse to quip, “Are you sure you went to school here?”

But I digress.  Our destination was the Homecoming Parade.  Well, truthfully, our real destination was our old stomping ground (yes, a drinking establishment) under the ruse of watching the parade from there.  And, truthfully, both tasks were accomplished, although like many things that transpired that day in this foreign city, I remembered the parade being bigger and well-attended while I also remembered the drinking establishment being bigger and well-attended.  Simply stated, I truly was a child while attending school here for none of my recollections were accurate from the four years spent wandering this beautiful town.

Further digression.  Back to the dancing.  Yes, Round Two happened here.  The aforementioned sister’s spouse played the juke box (is that what it is still called?) and without a word or a nod to one another, we headed to the back of the bar (yes, it’s after lunch time, so we can now admit we are in a bar) to the original dance floor, and for lack of a better phrase, we ‘cut a rug.’  I know, it’s actually a hardwood dancefloor, but that’s beside the point.

The point is, we danced.  And we danced.  In the middle of the day, spontaneously, as if we hadn’t danced in three decades.  And it was unexpected, unabashed fun.

Eventually we wore ourselves out (reality:  we only danced to one or two songs but were pacing ourselves for the long haul) and moved our day along.  We were extremely social throughout our campus visit, meeting and greeting friends both old and new, disagreeing over who was our sorority Social Director back-in-the-day, and managing to make the rounds peacefully by attending a clam bake, a tailgate, and an ale house before heading to our final dancing destination, our sorority house.

While this stop wasn’t necessarily on our agenda since we were making the day up as we went along, it was the perfect ending to our Homecoming.  And while this house was not our original sorority house, we were still greeted with open arms by girls young enough to be our daughters.  Shortly after our arrival, we linked arms with those young, open arms and sang, loudly and off-key, with sisters of varying generations and backgrounds but with sisterhood running through our veins at experiencing the same rituals and love.

We paused from our song to storm the attic in search of our senior year composite, and upon finding it, dashed back down two flights of stairs with our treasure.  Immediately, other generations fled to the attic to find their memories, and we laughed whole-heartedly over the big hair and the turtlenecks and the mean sisters and our common bond of sisterhood.

Oh, and the dancing?  Yeah, we danced.  Old tunes, new tunes and even ancient tunes.  We found a rhythm to it all and left an impression with the young folk who obliged us by allowing us to take over the place as if we still lived there and dancing with us as if they had anticipated boogying with their moms all day.

When we finally settled in for the drive home, we crooned more off-key songs and reminisced over the new memories from the day.  What we didn’t know is by the time we woke up the next morning, some of the dancing videos would already have gone viral (don’t worry, boys, it was clean and Mom didn’t embarrass you), saved forever not in our imaginations, but in virtual space for us to watch repeatedly.

And yes, watch out world, because we will dance again.