Not really sure what to expect and noticing the word "Ball" and "Princess" in the title I opted to wear a suit. Caty wore a dress she and her mother found at Wal-Mart earlier that afternoon. It was a good thing too because almost every other dad was wearing a suit so I luckily managed to avoid embarrassment at the very beginning. The girls got a flower to pin on their dress. I took a stab or two at it and then found a woman walking past to help me get it on my daughter without piercing her lung. The girls also got a tierra. It was quite the to-do. They even had a photographer.
I'm the goofy one on the left
The gym was decorated for Valentine's day. There were streamers, balloons, decorated tables and chairs, a DJ spinning tunes, and a large dance floor. As luck would have it, the DJ was playing a slow dance song and Caty wanted to dance so we took the floor immediately. Slow dancing I can do. Now when I say "do" I mean that I can move in such a non-conspicuous way that I blend in with everyone else and avoid attention being drawn to the fact that I can't dance. Hold on to the girl, move from foot to foot sort of in time with the music, while slowly turning in a circle. What I have just described the the extent of my knowledge of dancing.
I quickly realized that I put the flower on my Daughter's dress on the wrong side because it rubbed painfully against her when her shoulder pressed against me. I had to switch and let her lead. No matter, really. I don't really know what "leading" is in regards to dancing anyway other than it felt even more awkward to do everything left handed. We got along fine through the tune. Caitlyn didn't seem very impressed with slow dancing which was unfortunate for her since that is the only dancing I planned to do for the evening.
Now my daughter and I have opposite personalities when it comes to being outgoing. She is very much an extravert and I am . . . well, the opposite of that. When the song ended, the thump, thump of some modern up-beat tune started. I turned and started for the tables desperately looking for the "loser" table where I could sit with like-minded dads.
"Daddy, NO!," said my daughter. "Dance!"
She had already started without me.
I attempted to tempt her with the refreshments table which was loaded with cookies and punch and such but she wouldn't be deterred. I realized grimly that my plan to monopolize the slow songs avoid everything else was falling apart.
ahh, dancing. My life up to this point has been devoid of me having to dance and I have had a great life so far. I was far "too cool" to go to my high school prom.
Translation: I was too scared of girls to actually speak to them for more than a couple of minutes at a time much less risk the humiliation of asking one out on a date.
This evening proved that I wasn't missing anything.
My strategy was to worm my way to the center of the dance floor and try to get lost in the crowd so as not to be comic fodder for those lucky jokers sitting down and watching. My dance "style" for lack of a better word is actually non-existent but generally involves moving my arms and legs off beat, unnatural, and without any sense of rhythm. I am quite sure that when I "bust a move" so to speak, I look like a mentally disabled zombie with Parkinson’s disease.
My daughter was jumping, twisting, and swinging her arms around without a care in the world. I'm lucky she is only eight and too young to be embarrassed by her goofy father.
Mercifully, the song ended and I succeeded in getting Caitlyn to the refreshments and we found a seat at the table. We weren't there 30 seconds until the DJ announced that it was time for YMCA. Oh, joy.
"Oooh, Daddy, Come on!"
She was already halfway to the dance floor by the time I turned my head to beg out of it.
This was going to be a long night.
I somehow managed to stumble my way through the Killer's Whole Lotta Shakin', humiliated myself with the "Funky Chicken," massacred the Twist, and committed aggravated murder on the Limbo. One of the Dad's holding the bar thankfully took pity on me and raised it up as I was going under probably just so he wouldn't have to call an ambulance.
Towards the end of the evening, the DJ called for everyone to line up to do the hustle, electric slide, something like that. I can't remember exactly. It was line dancing though and I knew what that meant. I had been suckered into this before at a professional conference in Denver, CO where I learned that I don't have to ability to follow another person's dance steps. A line of folks have to do the same thing at the same time for it to work. The person teaching is usually facing you and doing everything opposite to the way you are to do it. I can never reconcile that for some reason. One thing about line dancing is that the joker that is not with everyone else REALLY stands out. No hiding my zombie moves in the middle of the dance crowd this time.
Line dancing for me is like someone shining a spotlight on me and saying over the P.A system, "Hey look at that goon! He never learned left from right, Hahahahaha." That's what it feels like anyway. Fortunately, my daughter was directly in front of me and, if I can just follow her, I should be OK.
The DJ asked for volunteers to show everyone how to do the dance.
Before I could say "No, no, Caty. Stay with me!" She was jumping and waving her hand wildly. "Ooh, Ooh, Me, ME, ME."
I was left alone.
I was a trooper though and stuck it out. I discovered that I didn't have to abandon my zombie technique either. After bumping into and kicking all of my immediate neighbors, I sort of had it down by the end of the song.
The evening ended with a nice slow dance to Louie Armstrong's What a Wonderful World. That was cool.
LOL!! Ok, you made it through. And you're lucky, she IS only 8. You'll remember this fondly when she is 13 or so, and you stop getting the invite. You never know though, Caty might subject you to this every year until she gets married. It would be a lovely tradition. So my advice is to buy one of those dance games for the Wii.
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