Dancing with Joy: A Moment I’ll Never Forget with My Grandson

I didn’t plan to dance that day. I was just walking down the old gravel path behind our house, the one that curves gently past the trees and always smells like fresh earth after a morning rain. I had my grandson tucked in my arm — his shirt said “I’m happy!” and I swear, he meant it. His little laugh bubbled up like a spring, and before I knew it, I was lifting my leg in the air like some kind of jubilant flamingo, laughing so hard I nearly dropped my dignity.

But not the baby. Never the baby.

What makes me smile in this scene — what fills me with joy so deep it aches — is the way he looks at me. Like I’m the funniest, safest, most magical person in the world. His tiny hand resting on mine, his eyes wide and blue like mine used to be before time softened them. That shirt of his wasn’t just a statement — it was a prophecy. We were happy. We are happy.

I love that I’m wearing my old gray shirt and jeans. Nothing fancy. Just me, as I am. And I love that the path behind us stretches into the distance, like life itself — winding, unpredictable, but surrounded by green. There’s something comforting about that. Like joy doesn’t need a destination. It just needs a moment.

And this was ours.

If you’re reading this, I hope you feel it too. The laughter. The lightness. The way joy sneaks up on you when you’re not trying so hard. Maybe you’ll remember a time you danced without music. Or held someone close and felt their happiness become yours. Maybe you’ll smile — and if you do, then this moment wasn’t just mine. It was ours.

So go ahead. Lift a leg. Laugh out loud. Hold someone close. And if you’ve got a shirt that says “I’m happy,” wear it like you mean it.

Because joy, my friend, is contagious. And today, you caught it.