Archive for March, 2015

Time was, I would have scoffed at the idea of a Father/Daughter dance. Then, of course, I had a daughter, and when your normally stoic daughter acts excited about the Father Daughter dance, you put on your big boy britches and you go to the Father/Daughter dance.

Granted, my daughter is still in elementary school, so I get off the dancing hook completely. The minute we get there, we’re in the snack line for some punch and chocolate.  Then she’s off in a blur with her friends, leaving me holding her shoes and propping up a back wall for two hours. I can’t complain, though. One of my biggest fears for my daughter going into her new school was that she wouldn’t adjust socially. There’s still a lot of work to be done there, but at least in 1st and 2nd grade, her classmates have been largely accepting of her quirks.  Junior high and high school? We’ll cross those serpent-infested waters when we get to them, I guess.  (Part of me kinda hopes for the collapse of civilization. I’m pretty sure trekking with my family across the wastes in search of food and shelter will be easier than the high school years.)

This is my second trip to our school’s Father/Daughter dance, and I noticed at least a few things:

  • The DJ who manned the boards for last year’s dance, and who played things like Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” was thankfully replaced by someone who played much more appropriate music.
  • For all my “sad bastard” music snobbiness, and despite my shelves groaning under the weight of Townes Van Zandt and Leonard Cohen albums, I have to admit that we live in Taylor Swift’s world.  At least if the singalong reactions of the girls at this dance were any indication.
  • I’m still astounded that nearly every girl in the elementary school age bracket knows every single line dance.
  • There’s always that one dad who’s out there by himself, who loves the dance floor, and who is relaxed as all get out. You go, Dad Who Can Actually Dance!
  • There’s nothing freakin’ cuter than a dance floor full of elementary school kids losing their ever-lovin’ minds and pogoing for the duration of “The Fox (What Does the Fox Say?).

In the end, it was a lot of fun, and I left looking much more festive than when I arrived. My daughter’s OCD impulses kicked in so she started collecting ribbons and streamers from the tables and stuffing them in my pockets.  By the end of the night, I pretty much looked like the Wizard of Oz’s Scarecrow if he’d gone to Carnival.


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