She smiled, flashed her big brown eyes open wide in anticipation, before scooting over and asking what I knew she would ask.
“Daddy, will you dance with me?”
Dancing. It terrifies me. On the other hand, I don’t mind looking like a fool on the dance floor because other than a slow dance, I know that’s how I’ll look.
Now my oldest daughter, Shawnna, who was 14 years old at the time, was asking to dance with me at her basketball fund-raiser in the school cafeteria.
There’s only one answer. “Absolutely!”
There were lots of girls there, only a handful of guys, and even fewer fathers. If you lined all the other males up and rated them from first to last on the dance floor, I would by far be last, dead last. I didn’t, no wait, I still don’t know how to two-step.
Shawnna is a very kind, observant daughter and knew I would dance, but also knew I didn’t like dancing because quite frankly, I don’t know how. As if our roles reversed, she smiled, took my hand and said, “Come with me. I’ll teach you.” Continue reading Dance On