Dancing Partners

"Look at the pretty little girl," my husband said as we were eating at a restaurant last night. I turned and saw a 9- or 10-year-old girl, princess-like in a cloud of white nylon net, accompanied by a man wearing a tuxedo, obviously her proud father. She had a tiara on her upswept hairdo, while his head was fashionably bald, lending a note of dignity and sophistication to what must be an important evening.

"They're from the Father/Daughter dance," I said in realization. We had seen the event publicized around town, and recalled it from the past couple of years when friends had attended with their young daughters.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, we spotted a small, bespectacled diner in a dress of hot pink ruffles, accompanied by her father in dress clothes. She, too, was wearing a tiara that sparkled like her smile from their booth across the dining room.

How nice that men were going to this effort to build a special bond with their daughters, I thought, affirming them and taking the opportunity to instill values and positive behavior traits important to their future. (No doubt both parents were involved, though, for I'm sure a mom was behind it somewhere, loving putting together a child-sized formal outfit, complete with earrings, jewelry, shoes and corsage).

A strong father image is invaluable to a girl's life, and it is rewarding to see many fathers today taking a larger role and hands-on approach to parenting. Seemingly gone are the days when dad just went to work, disciplined, and provided, although times were like that when I was growing up.

I loved my father, but we never went to a Father/Daughter dance. (Nor did I go to any other dance, for that matter--except for square-dance programs in our rural school.) Still, I remember being held on Daddy's lap when I was sick with a cold, feeling secure when I could hear him cough or snore at night, and listening to him sing folk ballads to us around the pot-bellied stove.

Sometimes Daddy entertained us in those pre-television days by making an "Eatin' Baby". All the kids would be shooed from the room, and after a few minutes of delicious anticipation, we would be allowed back in to see a strange apparition in the corner. A pillow, tied toward the top to form a head with a face drawn on the pillowcase, would be sitting in Mama's rocking chair, arms (Daddy's?) extending from behind with a spoon in one hand and a bowl in the other, feeding itself. When we asked it questions, it would throw the spoon at us or turn the bowl upside down, to our delighted shrieks and giggles.

The father-daughter dance of life is a delicate balance of love, friendship, discipline and guidance, with mutual respect on each side. From our fathers we gain ideas of what we want in a husband, for our daddy is our first crush. ("Daddy, why aren't you a movie star?" I would ask adoringly when I was little.)

My daddy gave me away when he walked me down the aisle to my waiting bridegroom, but he has never left my heart, only stepping aside while I changed partners to one who met his approval in the dance of life.