If I did the word association game, it would go like this:

You say, “Mom.” I’d say, “Kitchen.” You say, “Dad.” I’d say: “Chair.” So goes a big chunk of the slide show of my teen years. And even later, when they were both grandparents.

Much of the day we all went our ways. My sister and I went to school. Mom and Dad went to work. But they were in their places in the evening. Mom in the kitchen. Dad in his chair, reading or watching TV. That lasting memory is not fair and is a bit exaggerated. But I do that to set the stage.

Because there were sparkling moments I replay in my mind, because they felt so good. Seeing my parents smile, being happy, was special. Christmas topped the list, but most holidays were happy.

Today, while recovering from the holiday swirl, I started remembering when I saw the two of them happy. Having fun. With each other. Always made me smile. I watched, a bit wide-eyed. What always pops into view is the two of them dancing.

They were a toe-tapping, hip-swirling, dancing machine. Mom was smiling. Dad was smiling. The music was smiling – the song that made it happen – Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood.”

I wanted to be like my dad, but I could never copy the moves. I’m not sure what to call their slide and glide. It was like the Jitterbug, but Mom and Dad owned their jive.

My dance card was empty. I remember grade 3 or 4 when we were herded into a circle to follow square-dancing instructions from a scratchy phonograph record. “Circle left. Circle right. Grab your partner ... do-si-do.” Something like that. It was scary. The partner I was supposed to grab was a girl. A girl! No way.

Then my interest in dancing – with a young lady – began to perk. I could handle a waltz, the slow and easy rock back and forth. I knew about the basic square box pattern. When the soft music suddenly jacked into a jump and a jive, I was lost.

Then I was saved by one of those high school dances where the girls invite the guys. I had a girlfriend. I could not say no. That was the first school dance, but not the last. I loved it and have danced through the years since.

I learned to relax. I stopped thinking about where to put my feet. I stepped out of the waltz box. The music told me what to do. Like my dad, I found my pattern. Yes, you can spin ... and spin again. Fast songs were an invitation to experiment. Everyone had their own moves.

It took a while to get me on the floor (and maybe a few drinks), but then I didn’t want to leave. Funny how I must be forced to have a good time. Around me, everyone was letting the music in and the crazy out.

It’s been a while since I’ve let the crazy out. But it has been an important part of my life. And likely so for Mom and Dad. I was reminded of this after coming across a Mary Oliver poem. Let me share it:

“Three Things to Remember”

As long as you’re dancing, you can

break the rules.

Sometimes breaking the rules is just

extending the rules.

Sometimes there are no rules.

I wish my parents had danced more. Right there in our living room. Shut off the TV, turn off the kitchen lights, let that 45 drop and get “In the Mood.” I see them. Swinging and smiling. And I am grinning. Because suddenly there are no rules.

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His PaperWork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail the NewsTribune, 426 Second St., La Salle IL 61301.