I hope every mother had a wonderful Mother’s Day. My gift for Mother’s Day came last Thursday when my oldest son hopped in the truck and said, “Mom, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you better show me how to dance.”

He had a school dance on Friday—his first. I knew it was coming up, but he was adamant that he wouldn’t be going. It bummed me out. Dances were some of my favorite memories growing up, and here he was refusing to even try and see what they were about. I don’t know who or what changed his mind, but I pounced on the opportunity.

As soon as we got home I found us some suitable slow dance music. After a thorough drilling of how to hold a girl when you slow dance, and no, it’s not the stupid bear-hug-shuffle these kids do today, we worked on the basic Waltz. He caught on quickly, so I showed him a little Fox Trot, and even a few steps to the Jitter Bug. It was an amazing evening of laughing and learning.

When I sent him to the dance on Friday, I hoped he would follow all of my advice. I told him to ignore the boys who stood against the wall jeering everyone out on the dance floor—they would be there, they always are—but he needed to dance every dance. Second, I told him to dance with a different girl every slow dance. If she wasn’t confident in movement, don’t get to fancy with the moves. But, a smart boy would always give the girl a twirl or two while dancing.

He came home with the biggest smile on his face. “Mom, you were right, it was awesome! I danced every dance. The girls around me thought I was cool, and they liked it when I twirled them around on the slow dances.”

I wasn’t surprised. We, as a culture in general, may have drifted far from the era of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers, but when you’re being glided across the floor by a boy with a little know-how, it’s hard as a female not to enjoy it. Just wait until I show him how to dip a girl, oh boy is he gonna be popular.