May I have this Dance?

the first time they danced together, not so very long ago, she was such a little girl. her arms were wrapped around Daddy's neck, her little feet scrunched up and they swayed back and forth in a big hug set to music. she's bigger now and they can dance without his bending over, because she's old enough for her feet to reach all the way to the ground when he holds her and she's wearing her first almost high heels. her hand still gets lost in his. he's still far enough above her to take in the sweet melon smell that comes from the top of her head. she tilts back to smile at him, knowing she has just stepped on his foot. did he even feel it?

she looks around at the other dads, the too cool dads who might as well be dancing with the mirror instead of their little girl, the stiff dads who've had some lessons but still can't find the beat, the scared dads on the sidelines who are suddenly 11 years old again and can't move. she knows that, already, she had been lucky in life. she's got a fun dad and he whispers something just for her, then twirls her away in a spin, catch and spin again.

he knows-in fact he hopes, he dreams-that a day will come when he will dance with her in her long white dress, light and lovely, leaving a trail of memories behind them. and then he'll have to step back, because she'll only have eyes for another.

but not now, not tonight. tonight that smile is just for him. on father-daughter night she is the apple of his eye and he is her prince charming.

while cleaning out a dresser drawer, i found this, yellowed and folded over and over. i don't remember what magazine i tore it out of or even who wrote it, but i have had it for years. it reminds me of my daddy. how i used to dance with him. now when i watch drew dance with the girls, i see in their eyes that he is their prince charming too.