As a dad of two wonderful and talented daughters much of my life has been spent in poorly lit high school theaters, cavernous convention centers and really uncomfortable mass produced, stackable chairs. I've suffered this happily so I can watch two girls grow from clumsy, arm flailing, twirling dervishes into flowing, floating, mesmerizing dancers. It's been a heck of a journey. Join me while a reminisce and cry a bit along the way.
The early years were special. I mean, really fond memories cheering on my little angels as they stand on that high school stage, staring off to the side trying to mimic their dance teachers' movements like a poorly made stop motion animation sequence. Are they going to spin? No, wait they're going to dip! No, now I think they might point their toes. Nope, they are just distracted again staring at the hole in their tights. When that spin does happen, or whatever fancy French word they call that move, it really is a thing of beauty. I mean that. Seeing your little girls actually pull off a dance move, kind of? Dang proud Dance Dad!
Then they get older, decide to get competitive, and things get really, really...expensive! I mean who knew dance costs as much as a small island off the coast of California? I picked the wrong career. Should've owned a dance studio. I really thought the days of having to eat Raman noodles and PB&Js were behind me. Nope. I was just building some muscle memory for when I had to pay for dance. Wanna be on a team? Sure thing. Her are 5 classes you have to take and pay for, along with the actual chorography sessions and practice times. Don't forget the mandatory summer sessions. Of yeah, here are the 5 costumes you have to buy, that cost $50+, that will be used 5 times, a whole 5 times, and then never seen again! Rinse and repeat. Every. Single. Year. Times 2 for me. I love sitting in that poorly lit high school theater, scrolling through my Facebook feed seeing pictures people took while on vacation in Bora Bora. It's a wonderful yearly tradition of mine. Then the moment comes. My girls finally get their chance on that stage. Shmora Shmora. My girls just killed it! What'd your girls do? Huh? HUH? Dang proud Dance Dad!
They say dance isn't a sport. It's been my observation that there are stupid people in the world. People who say this just confirm my observation. I find this funny. Hysterical actually. I've coached almost every sport. I've seen what athletes have to commit to in order to compete from a young age all the way through high school and beyond. The endless practices. Studying to make sure they know their job, time spent stretching, running, and training themselves for a grueling season. Mentally preparing to compete in front of hundreds of people screaming and yelling while they do their thing. Focused on the little things, because details matter. People are watching. Thier competition is coming for them. Gotta be ready. This is what athletes do. Those that play football, baseball, basketball, softball, soccer, etc. all have to do this stuff as well. Are dancers' athletes? Have you actually watched competitive dancers do their thing? You wouldn't ask the question if you did. Now, don't get me started on golfers*. Please, let's stay respectful.
If you know, you know. There is nothing, NOTHING, like being a Dance Dad. The endless hours I spend in convention centers, weekend after weekend, at competitions sitting through SOOO many dances featuring kids you don't know, doing things you don't care about. All worth it just to watch my amazing daughters transform into powerhouses of beauty, grace and presence. Nothing can replace those moments. Nothing can top them. I see them dance and am reminded of how far they've come and filled with such pride in who they're becoming. Grab me one of those really uncomfortable chairs, and of course I'll carry, drag, push those 1,000lb dance bags to the car, I've got some Dance Dad stuff to do! And no, I'm not crying. There's just some dust in the air.
Also, having a fully charged phone is a thing of beauty when going to a dance competition. Trust me. Pro Tip - bring a portable charger.
*I love you golfers. Just poking some fun. I can't hit a golf ball to save my life. I promise to be quiet while you hit yours.