Daughters impose ground rules at dance with dads

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By Rick McCrabb, Columnist 1:00 AM Monday, February 8, 2010

MIDDLETOWN — I’m driving to my first father/daughter dance at my church when a tiny voice from the back seat says: “Please slow down.”

At this moment, I’m thinking my 11-year-old daughter, Hannah, not wanting to be seen in public with her embarrassing father, has kidnapped her mother.

It’s like Hannah stuffed her mother — and her backseat driver comments — in her purse.

Instead, the voice belongs to one of Hannah’s friends, Anna, whose father is sitting next to me in the front seat.

“I’m not speeding,” I say for the thousandth time in my life, but the first to an 11-year-old.

“I know,” Anna says, “I just don’t want to get there early.”

“What?”

“I want to be fashionably late.”

I hit the brakes. We arrive at SouthBrook Christian Church in Centerville at 6:07 p.m., seven minutes late.

The parking lot is packed.

Not wanting to miss dinner, or the opportunity to have my picture taken with my daughter, or being told by the youth pastor that I’m the most important man in my daughter’s life, I’m in a hurry to get to church.

Mom would be proud.

Plus, I need to get the rust off my distinctive dance moves. The Q-Tip? Check. The Sprinkler? You betcha. The Alligator? That’s me.

Anyway, before I can open the car door, Anna says to us old guys: “We have some ground rules to go over.”

“That’s right,” Hannah says. “Ground rules.”

“No belching,” Anna declares.

“No farting,” Hannah demands.

“What’s left?” I ask. “You girls know we’re your dads, we’re men. We have habits.”

Then Anna drops the hammer: “No funny dancing.”

I’m ready to go home, but I’ve spent $25 on the ticket and $10 for my daughter’s wrist corsage.

We pose for pictures and — without being asked — Hannah puts her arm on my shoulder. We later eat dinner, and I’m proud to report, I drop no meatballs on my dress shirt and I keep my fingers out of my nose.

Finally, it’s time to dance. You can feel the tension in the room. Do you remember your first junior high dance? The one where the boys stood against one wall, and the girls on the other wall?

It’s worse than that.

It’s awkward for fathers to dance with their daughters, well, until their wedding.

Anyway, one of the first songs — much to my delight and my dancing shoes — was “Shout” made famous by Otis Day and the Nights in “Animal House.”

Let’s just say I got down and dirty.

At least I didn’t belch or fart.

Contact this columnist at (513) 705-2842 or rmccrabb@coxohio.com.

THE LIGHTER SIDE

RICK MCCRABB

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