More than 20 years ago, I sent letters to people, most of whom I did not know, asking if they knew my mom or dad from “the old days.” Based on their surnames, there was at least a remote chance that they might have. My mom and dad had long since passed away when I wrote the letters. One of the questions I asked was whether they had seen mom or dad doing something specific in their younger years; for dad, it was boxing, and for mom it was dancing. No one responded positively.
Fast forward just a few years and I found myself talking to my dad’s uncle Cecil at a reunion in Mississippi. I asked him the same question. He responded that he had not seen dad in the ring, but he did see him after a fight when dad had pus and blood running out of his ears. I recall dad telling me about that fight; he had been quite sick, but his manager refused to let him out of the fight. Dad lost; it was his last fight. Besides, he had something else that was occupying his attention – her name was Dorothy. I called her mom decades later.
Boxing became legal in Texas in 1932 and dad was the 10th person to get a boxing license. It warms my heart and rekindles memories of stories he told me when I see his name on a site about boxers. I have news clippings from his fights, one of which states, “Rusty M’Innis Hit of Fight Program.” I would love the chance to talk to someone who could say, “You shoulda seen your dad when….” I wish that I had.
Ironically, dad had no problem dancing in the ring of the “sweet science,” but he did not dance outside of it; likewise, he did not like fighting for fighting sake, unlike his brother, but preferred the sport in the ring. Mom, on the other hand, was apparently a magnificent dancer. Dad gave up boxing for mom, and mom gave up dancing for dad.
According to mom’s stories, there was a lot of dancing going on in those days, that is, during the Great Depression. Times were tough, but music and movement helped folks get through the challenges. She shared stories about her aunts and their love of dancing, too.
I resist dancing, though I have taken lessons a couple of times. I’m pretty much limited to slow dancing in the living room. As much of a challenge as it is for me, all the more I would love to have seen my mom, moving gracefully across the floor, following the lead of her dance partner. I would love the chance to talk to someone who could say, “You shoulda seen your mom when…” I wish that I had.
Nowadays, I have a great appreciation for good stories about boxers, especially broke ones (check out the movie “Cinderella Man” about James Braddock for a great story), and movie scenes with great dancing of the styles from the Great Depression era.
While I never saw them in their youth, mom and dad shared stories that have stuck with me, and many have been passed on to my kids and their kids. Maybe that’s the point of all this – share stories. Those stories create connections to time, place and personality.
My mom would sometimes quote a pastor who would say, “I once was what you are now.” Someday, kids or grandkids or friends or strangers may have a hard time believing you were ever younger than they know you. That’s natural, but there is a loss there. We can better appreciate life and our own lives by understanding that which came before us.