When my girls were young, it became a tradition for us to attend a Father Daughter dance around Valentine’s Day. My oldest daughter was three years old when we went to our first dance. She was so excited about the dance that she did not get her normal afternoon nap that day. There were struggles and a few tears as she was getting dressed for the dance because she was tired. She had a new dress just for the dance. We would arrive at the dance early that also included a dinner.
Most of the details of this first dance come from my daughter’s description the following year. I have often described her as a creature of habit. Even at this early age, she had in her mind how things would be and that they would be that way every time. When we were getting ready for the dance when she was four she told me, “We will get to the dance and we will get our pictures made. Then you will stand around and talk to the other dads while I run and play with the girls. Then we will sit down to eat but I won’t eat the salad because I don’t like it. After we eat, will dance and then sit down and eat cookies and drink punch. Then we will dance some more and then go home early because my feet are tired.”
This is a good description of what happened at the dance that first year. My daughter’s dancing technique consisted of her holding my finger and spinning as long as she could and as fast as she could. Her feet ended up with blisters from dancing in new shoes. She was absolutely exhausted when we got home. Things went very similar that second year. The main difference was that she was well rested and we stayed at the dance until they brought up the lights and stopped the music.
The next year, we had moved back to the Jackson, Tennessee area. We would have to find a new dance to go to. The only one we could find was held at the local YMCA. It was a larger event that the one that we had been attending but wasn’t as nice. There were a few snacks available but no dinner. The dance at the YMCA was intended to reach a broader audience that the one we had attended before. One of the more disturbing things that I encountered at this dance was the number of men that smelled of alcohol. I don’t usually think of a father daughter dance being a time for a guy to get liquored up. Our tradition evolved to include a trip to McDonalds after the dance. The following year, I would take both of my girls to the dance. I remember it being a struggle to dance with both of them. My younger daughter didn’t twirl as much and my oldest. The year after that, the appeal of going to the dance had faded for my oldest daughter. I took the younger one, but she wasn’t as interested in dancing and by the next year, we let the tradition go.
I miss those days when my daughters were so excited to do anything with their dad. Now I am the one who gets excited when they need me to do something.
