The Daddy Daughter Dance

I have trouble blogging about the things that I want to write about the most. When something big happens, I always think, "I should sit down and really give this the attention that it deserves." But there's just never enough time, so I usually end up skipping it entirely.

I had one of those big deal experiences last year that I never wrote about. My first daddy daughter date with Paige.

When Paige brought a flyer home from school advertising the dance, I wasn't too keen on the idea. I was pretty sure that I hadn't danced since college, I didn't even really like doing it back then. But I could tell she really wanted to go.

When we walked into the high school, all dolled up in our nice clothes, I had no idea what to expect. Would we be overdressed? Under dressed? The only ones there? The answers were no, no, and no.

The place was absolutely packed. After checking our coats (that's what you do at a classy joint like Kearns High School), Paige heard the music and literally sprinted out onto the gym floor. Before I knew it, she was dancing at warped speed in giant circles around the dance floor. I couldn't hope to keep up with her; I could barely even keep an eye on where she was going.

She was so excited to be dancing (and dancing and dancing) that it was difficult to get her to stop long enough to get our picture taken. The second the photographer snapped our photo, she was back on the floor, dancing to her favorite jam [video link]:



I don't think we could have possibly had a better night. So of course it had to become an annual tradition.

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Paige was so excited about the dance that she made this comic strip (and even took the self portraits).

This year, my friend Brett and his two daughters came along with us. We showed up early so we could get our pictures taken before the dance started. The picture line was already out the door by the time we got there. We were still waiting when the dance began, so we let the girls going into the gym by themselves (this dance was at Paige's elementary and was much less hectic than at the high school). After a few minutes, Paige came out and said, "Daaaad, we don't need to wait for the pictures. WE NEED TO DANCE!"

So we did.

They played all of Paige's favorite tunes--Call Me Maybe, We Are Never Getting Back Together, Gangnam Style--mixed in with some Macarena and YMCA.

Luckily, Paige's dancing-in-circles was confined a smaller space this year, but she still managed to sneak away from me. I looked down just in time to see her getting whisked away by a conga line (which looked more like a really long, slow moving caterpillar of delirious little girls) that kept on going for several songs.

With all of the spinning and jumping and repeated requests to "dip me, dad," there was no time for professional photos, but I was able to get these:

Here's the great thing about the daddy/daughter dance. You would think that you'd look/feel like an idiot dancing to Justin Bieber in an elementary school cafeteria. But you don't. You're are in room filled with lots of different dads--from those who still know The Electric slide (I mean, really know it) to the scary dad with the giant face tattoos--who all just really love their daughters.

Once again, Paige had the time of her life.

And I did, too.