A Daddy and a Daughter

It is a rare occasion indeed when I get to see Señor dressed up. Oh, he almost always gets dressed, but never in anything nicer than a pair of Carhart jeans and a button-up shirt. Which is way hot and he totally rocks it, but still. I love to see him in a dress shirt and tie sometimes. With maybe a splash of cologne. Mmmmm.

Corrine on the other hand, is always dressed up. Whether it's stripes with polka dots, plaid with print, or leopard print tights with a floral dress, she's always a fashionista. I love it. The only thing she never lets me handle that I really really want to have control over is her hair. It's a fight every morning just to get her to brush it. Sometimes I am literally running a brush through her hair as she is (screaming, "STOP. OUCH!") exiting the car in the school parking lot. It hasn't always been this way. When she was younger - all the way up to first grade, even - she used to beg me to do her hair. I always had it combed and done. It was so fun for me. And then she decided to assert her independence by telling me that she could brush her own hair. *sniff* 'Twas a sad day indeed. Now I'm over it, but I still like to chase her around with a flat iron every once in a while, to try to tame the beast, but that only happens on Mondays. Sometimes Tuesdays.

But this post isn't meant to be about how I feel about playing dress up. No. It was meant to be about these two: Michael and Corrine. About a Daddy and a Daughter. About a dance. A Daddy Daughter Dance.

You see, when Corrine was born, Michael became a Daddy. Oh, he was a Dad - a Father - when Hunter was born, and he loved our little man. They were the best of friends and playmates, and his love for Hunter wasn't to be outdone. But there is something about the way a man looks at and treats his daughter that makes him a Daddy. The way he snuggles with them, the way his eyes go all misty whenever he sees that she's growing, and how he goes out of his way to make sure she is taken care of. Michael would do anything for Roo (and her sister too, for that matter) and never think twice. Except maybe selling off his antler collection to pay for her wedding, but that is years down the road.

The Friday before Valentine's Day, our local middle school held their first ever Daddy Daughter Dance. We weren't sure how well it would go over because it was held on the same night as the big one at the fairgrounds, but there was a pretty good sized crowd there. How would I know, you ask? Well, I wasn't exactly invited, since the invitations and flyers specifically said "No Mother's Allowed. This means YOU." I was, however, asked to help take pictures. That. Was. So. Fun. I loved seeing all the girlies with their daddies. I would say "dressed up with their daddies" but that would be untruthful, and I don't like deceiving people. At least not intentionally. Unintentionally - well, that's another story.

Michael and Corrine each had a flower to wear; a wrist corsage for her, a boutonniere for him, and they put their best clothes on (Roo even let me curl her hair!) and off they went. Michael said they had a good time, and Corrine said they had a good time. I wouldn't know, because I wasn't technically there, remember? But on the occasion when Michael came up behind me to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, I remembered where I was and I snuck some peeks at them. What I saw didn't really surprise me much. Most of the dads were on the perimeter of the dance floor either standing there uncomfortably in their dress clothes, or chatting it up with other dads while their daughters danced and played and giggled and whispered with all their girlfriends on the dance floor. It was sweet. Occasionally the Daddies and their Daughters (or Grand-daddies and Grand-daughters) would dance with each other and that was even sweeter.

Overall, I think it was a huge hit, and they might go it again next year. Only next year, I think they'll go out to eat with the money ($29.50!) we spent on a corsage and boutonniere that got left in the car because their wearers felt too silly to actually wear them.