The Last Dance

That was it. A few Saturdays ago was the final, final. The last father-daughter dance is safely stored on the iPhone. Hopefully one day the photos will end up in a book or photo album. Regardless, they will remain in my heart and memory forever. It truly was our best dance ever. Looking back it was all so perfect. My turtle bug wore a pretty navy dress and cute earrings that were appropriate for both the event and her date. She looked beautiful. Dad bailed on his necktie again but squeezed into his skinny-guy slacks with a blue blazer. Thankfully, K wore tennis shoes rather than heels so Dad didn’t feel like Spud Webb out on the dance floor. At 5’ 9” my daughter doesn’t need much help to tower over her father. Mothers everywhere just stopped reading. Spud, who? (1) That’s fine. This column is primarily for fathers with daughters.

Occasionally, I do wonder what it would have been like to raise 2 boys and no girls. A few things would have been more easily navigated. Things like sharing the bathroom, controlling the TV remote, going through puberty, watching sports. How nice it might have been to have 2 boys sharing their dad’s ability to get dressed and leave the house on 5 minutes notice. Teaching my son to drive was so much easier than teaching my daughter. Yet somehow, my daughter has become the best driver in our family. 

Of course like all dads, I wouldn’t trade my experience as K’s daddy (dad) for anything. It has been an awesome blessing to help raise a daughter. Our journey has been a rollercoaster of fun, adventure, and love. There have been so many amazing highs and only 3 lows that can I clearly remember (the period from age 3 to age 6 when she barely spoke to me, the Maui snorkeling episode and a recent Blazer game). The third low was entirely on dad…ugh. Watching her blossom into a young woman has been such a rich experience. We have shared many special moments and the father-daughter dances have been an annual mile-marker of sorts to chart our progress. Lately, we chart our height as well.

A few Saturday’s ago was our 10th dance. 10 years seems like a very long time. Instagram was founded in 2010. Apple rolled out the first iPad in 2010. Angry Birds was the hottest video game. In 2010 we had a US President that was ….Presidential. I have learned first-hand that our daughters are not immune to time. They grow and mature quickly. Like chia pets. If you happen to have a 7, 8, 9 or even 10-year-old daughter still hanging around, please hug her. Go to the park. Buy her ice cream. Enjoy a book together. Tuck her in, if that’s still permissible. She will forever be your little girl. But daddy only has a few, short years left. Soon you will be replaced by a guy called dad. Dad is more of a facilitator. Dad fields questions like “Where is Mom, when is she getting home?” Followed quickly by “What’s for dinner?” “K - when exactly was the last time I made dinner? Mom isn’t here so I can’t address your dinner inquiry”. It’s a different reality and the rules have changed. They are now her rules. But that’s okay.

Let’s take it back to 2010 to a place called “Daddy’s World”. In the early years, I ran the show at these dances and my daughter came along for the ride. She was excited to dress up and be out with daddy and her friends too. I was over the moon to take my little princess to the ball. When the first dance arrived, I was a spry 42-year-old and my daughter was 7. She and I enjoyed a steady pre-dance routine. I got dressed minutes before departure and always questioned whether a tie was really necessary. My Turtle Bug picked her special dress days in advance but often didn’t want dad to see it until dance night. Mom was there to help with her hair, accessories and of course to take 100 pictures. I guess mom still plays the same role today. We always took pictures in the same spot in our front yard. After the home-paparazzi shoot, it was straight to the dance for professional pictures and dinner. The girls ran around in a pack for the first hour while the fathers mingled and had a short one. Dinners were leisurely and we would dance before and between courses. 

The first dances were a dream. I knew all the music and my daughter was the shy one. We would only dance to songs that dad knew and liked. A 7-year-old doesn’t have a setlist yet. Remarkably, I looked forward to the Village People and YMCA. By age 9, my daughter knew “the moves”. Even the nauseating Macarena craze provided a measure of normalcy. AC-DC usually got dads in their dance groove. Then the song “Shout” would raise the house. Not only was Shout an incredibly easy song to sing but the dancing was seamless too. Thanks for the imagery Delta House. Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” always closed the night. Most years, daddy cried as we enjoyed the rare slow dance.

Before long, the dances drifted in my daughter’s direction. By age 12, Taylor Swift ruled the night. Soon Justin Bieber was holding court. It was her music. She now chose the songs we danced to. A simple glance would tell me if I was needed or not. The slow, long fade of dads to the background had begun. We did our best to participate but at some level, we were just mailing it in. For many of us, dancing to Justin Bieber was simply a deal killer. “No sweetie, please dance with Jackie for this song”.

The last 4 dances have been courtesy of Jesuit High School. The pregame has changed and is a big focus. We now go out to a fancy dinner before the dance. 8 girls and 8 dads gather in a nice restaurant near the venue. By age 17, we have been officially segregated. The dads all sit together and the girls sit separately at a nearby table. This is another clear sign that our time together is dwindling. 10 years ago my Tbug practically sat on my lap at dinner and now we aren’t even seated at the same table. This is a natural evolution and perfectly normal but it still sucks.

By the time high school is in full swing, the music is foreign. Period. It’s unrecognizable to anyone over 20-years-old. Even the cool dads have no clue. Steve Miller Band was spot on. “Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’ into the future”. Soon the dads were nostalgic for the music we once hated. I laugh as I wonder if I can request music by Miss Swift or my boy Justin B. At this final dance, it took well over an hour before I knew a single song. Queen and Abba visited for a short set and we all sang out loud. Soon it was back to hip hop and rap and the dad fade continued. The power shift was complete. And just as it should be, the 17 & 18-year-olds ruled the evening. 

In 6 months my daughter will leave for college. Our nest will be empty. Dad will be left to wonder where all the time went. There will be some tears but they will be tears of joy and gratefulness. I say that because I showed up. Happily, I can say I was present and paying full attention during our journey. I paid even closer attention in recent years. I fretted at the time about her lost innocence, the angst of high school and boys hovering in the shadows. I worried about losing my daughter but that never happened. I lost my little girl but I gained a dear friend, a confidant, and a beautiful young woman. The teen years have come and are almost gone but everything is okay. It’s more than okay. It’s fantastic. It wasn’t the nightmare I had feared. We both survived and had a blast along the way! Today on President’s Day with no school or work we did some errands together and enjoyed lunch. It was the perfect afternoon.

And one thing is for sure. This was NOT our last dance. Not even close. There will be many more dances. They might take place in Boulder or Eugene with more new music but that’s just fine. I’ll be ready.

(1.) Spud Webb is a 5 foot 6 inch former NBA player who won the slam dunk contest in 1986