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Jenny Takes The Floor

My date’s corsage matches her dress. It is our first time to go to a dance together, and although we have spent time together before, both of us are a little nervous. We eat dinner at a local eatery that becomes my date’s favorite restaurant whenever she is asked by family and friends.

We share small talk. “How was your day?”

I ask as we ride together to the Holiday Inn where the Valentine dance is to take place.

“Fine,” she replies. She later says she spent time talking with friends on the phone after school. The remainder of her afternoon was spent preparing for our date.

The other couples are mingling together when we arrive. We nod and greet them when we walk into the room. My date waves to friends she knows who have come with their dates.

It is a little awkward at first. The music begins, and I wait to see if she wants to dance. I offer my hand. We are the first ones to step out on the floor.

She steals my heart for the evening. She is beautiful. Her eyes sparkle. Her smile lights up her face, warms my heart, and causes me to smile in return.

It promises to be a date I will never forget.

I look at her and place my hand at her waist. We don’t say a word. We don’t need to say anything. Sharing my six-year-old daughter’s very first dance means the world to me.

It was a big deal to me and the other fathers who were their daughters’ escorts for the evening. It was the first time that I understood that my little girl would grow up one day.

Years pass quickly, and now from the sidelines I watch seventeen-year-old Jenny glide across the dance floor. Family friend Lib Johnson demonstrates the steps, and Jenny catches on and moves gracefully counting her steps...one, two, three...one, two, three. “Good! Good!” Lib affirms. Lib is a great dancer and teacher, having the perfect mix of expertise and encouragement.

The dance lessons are part of Jenny’s high school senior project. She is learning the waltz, the fox trot and the tango.

It is far from the shuffle steps and toe bumpings of our first dance. Jenny looks so grown up.

Juggling the many challenges of her final year of high school is demanding, but somehow she seems to manage. Early admission application deadlines, responsibilities of being a Color Guard captain, and maintaining her high class ranking are daunting. Long after the rest of the family has retired and lights are out throughout the house, a sliver of light peeps from beneath her door.

“What time did you go to sleep last night?” her mother asks in the morning. “Not too late – maybe around one,” she replies looking up from the morning paper. “I’ll catch up on my sleep this weekend.”

Along with her breakneck schedule, Jenny spends time with friends, she dates, and she is forming a habit of borrowing the car keys so she can “run to the mall.”

Like my son Kyle and my older daughter Amie did, Jenny is moving to adulthood. She has taken center stage. The spotlight is shining on her alone. My hand grasp is loosening. Her mom and I watch from a widening distance. Even though we are ever diligent and ready to assist if needed, lately the need to jump in is becoming less and less frequent.

It is what we do as parents. We love and nurture. We teach and guide. We show by example so that one day our children can take the floor and navigate life’s challenges.

And for Jenny, that means with a twirl and a flourish!

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