Some of my favorite memories are of the Daddy-Daughter Dance. Last year’s dance was the last one for my daughter and me. Instead of dancing around the middle school gym, the elementary school gym, or the community center gym (what is it with dances and gyms?), my daughter and I went to dinner at Cheesecake Factory and strolled around IKEA. Dinner then dancing has been replaced with Dinner then design.
It’s a natural progression. One thing that hasn’t faded is my love for time with my daughter. It makes my week—my year!—to have her know I’m listening and that I earnestly want to know what is happening in her world. Sitting in the din of clinking glasses and chuckling families, I listened to her tell me about school, friends, softball, and band. We agreed that pumpernickel bread is divine when it’s warm and buttered. She exploited the closeness and asked to get Snapchat on her phone. We compared notes on our favorite roller coasters at Kings Island. The conversation was just as warming as dancing in those gyms.
I love those talks. I’ll miss them when she’s not living in our house, just down the hall. Tonight reminded me of how thankful I am to be her Dad.