I slow danced with my daughter tonight.
It just happened. There were no big plans to turn on the (gag) country music station on the satellite, and we didn’t try to goad her into dancing so we could fulfill some messed up fantasy of what ‘good’ parents should be doing.
Nope, we were just playing around on the couch – her trying to get up so she could jump around, while I kept pushing her off and tickling her – when she grabbed my hand and pulled me onto my feet.
Before I really understood what she wanted, she was doing circles around me, as if saying, “C’mon old man, catch up would ya!”. Then she looked up at me and held her arms up, which even I understand as the universal sign for “raise me off the ground by using your arms you stupid moron”.
So I did.
And she put her right arm on the side of my left and put her tiny little 16-month-old left hand into my right hand and we danced. We did slow circles, we spun, we dipped and we made faces at Mom, who was our audience.
Eventually, it was Mom’s turn to dance, but I got a full song and a bit, and loved each and every second, even though the dizziness from all those spins – who can resist when she says, “Mo” after each twirl – left me a bit light-headed.
Once again, I’ve realized it’s the moments you’re not expecting to be moments that make being a Dad so awesome.