Dancing

The time flew by. When they were smaller, the Dad/Daughter Dance seemed to grind out slowly, but with each passing year those two hours grow shorter. They hang with their friends more, can get their own punch and as they grow older the days near when they may not want to go “dance” with daddy or their lives will take them far away. For now, I got to dance with my girls. The older, more mature and awkwardly dancing with dad, the younger, nestled in my arms excited about balloons and cookies. All three of them still my girls, still dancing. There’s a strange awareness that I am preparing them for someone and a slow realization that that someone is beyond my control. I prepare them still: to be loved, cherished and honored and so I try to show them what they should look for in a man. I hope and I dance.