Sixty-year old dancin’ skirts swirled around as the war veteran and his belle danced at the All American Swing concert last weekend. The dancefloor was full of such couples, the hunched man gently holding his lover’s wrinkled hand as the dance slowed to a flowing breeze. How long have they been married? How many times danced these dances? Do they remember holidays when the smartly-uniformed man joined his wife in the absence-wrought fondness? Several songs went by, and it was clear that they were trying to forget the arthritis that was creeping through their bodies as they swung the moves of yesteryear. No fatalities had occurred when we hit the 45-minute mark, which I only remember because that is the time when a young, early 20’s couple stood to take the dancefloor. I felt this contained scoff come from within me – who were they to take the floor with couples who had been dancing together for 60 years? They were all lovey-dovey, but do they recognize that they have not yet attained love? Will they suffer all wrongs, take no offense, sacrifice for one another – know the true passion of those who have tested it and tried it and found it has little to do with feelings? One day, I hope, they will know the beauty that through trials grows ever more lovely in the beholder’s eye.