One of mine was the Daddy-Daughter Dance. I was in 4th or 5th grade and I desperately wanted to go. I remember begging my dad nonstop to take me. He wouldn’t even consider it. He didn’t dance and had no interest in going. He had no interest in going with me.
For weeks it was all anyone talked about at school. I withdrew (even further) from the conversations and into myself those weeks to avoid being asked why I wasn’t going. What would I tell them? The day of the dance I cried in my room. He sat in his favorite chair and watched TV.
My mom loves to tell me how much Matt reminds her of my father sometimes. I vehemently disagree with that statement and it drives a wedge even further between us every time she says it.
This past Saturday, Matt took Grace to our local carnival on one of their frequent ‘dates’.
They rode rides, ate snacks and played games. Gracie almost won a ham and a goldfish. (Neither one would have lasted long in our house.) Matt’s superior college dart skills paid off and he won her princess posters. They rode and snuggled and had the kind of love filled experience Grace has come to expect from him.
And I know Matt will always be the first one in line to dance with his little girl.
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And someday, our daughter will blog about the humiliation of her Daddy shouting "Alligator!!!" in the middle of the dance and writhing on the floor.
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