Some Girls Like To Dance

We’re in the middle of Costco and I am watching the kids go grab a sample of something or other.

Not so long ago I would have been certain to be close enough to see exactly what they were going to eat and to confirm they weren’t going to get crushed by carts or people.

They are big enough now for me to be confident they won’t eat Tide Pods or be scooped up and taken away by some crazy Costco shopper.

A few minutes later they return to my side chuckling about how someone said it was too busy to be there.

“If they think Southlake is crazy, they’ll never survive in the Van Nuys or Marina stores.”

I nod my head and debate whether I want to hit the middle section with all of the clothes. I could use  a pair of Dockers for work.

Ultimately I decide I don’t have to buy them now and say something about wanting to get out of there.

Within ten minutes we’re waiting to check out and the kids ask me for some cash for ice cream.

I nod my head and give them two bucks and then think about the homogeneity of Costco. We could be back in California, New Jersey or Florida and never know notice because Costco looks the same everywhere.

Some Girls Like To Dance

Costco was actually the second stop of a multi stop day.

Target came first.

As we passed the toy section my daughter asked if I remembered how they used to ask to go to the toy section as soon as we got there.

I nod my head and say it is impossible to forget.

A toy guitar catches my eye and I remember when the same girl grabbed one and told me that some girls like to dance.

She was around four or five and she had no problem holding court and putting on a show any where we went.

If you had told her then that one day she would be worried that her father would do something silly and embarrassing she would have told you to stop teasing her.

Most of the time she doesn’t worry about that or make a big deal, but you might be surprised how quickly her old man can make her blush or encourage her to try to blend into her surroundings.

But some things haven’t changed as much as she might think because she still likes to tell me what girls like to do or how boys ought to act around girls.

Sometimes I remind her that some girls liked spending time with me and that I could prove it.

“Dad, you are not a player. Don’t act like one.”

I laugh and tell her I never was.

“I wasn’t that guy and I don’t think it would have mattered if I tried. But it is true that some girls used to like spending time with me.”

She rolls her eyes and says “eww” and I tell her to remember not to try testing limits with a father who has been known to do the same.

****

Saturday night rolls around and she comes looking for me because she wants help with a writing assignment.

I am biased and lack perspective, but my baby girl has natural talent. Her writing is strong and she could easily be a better writer than I am.

I’ll Register For It

We walk by the KitchenAid Mixers and the girl who told me some girls like to dance says she figures she’ll register for a mixer when she gets married.

“Those things are expensive. I’ll register for one and start a great bakery.”

I know she has no plans to get married any time soon and that she has many other plans so there is no reason to focus on any of this now.

Something about the moment catches me, maybe it is the way she just flipped her hair out of her eyes or maybe it is something else.

But for just a moment I saw the little girl she used to be and remember how we used to dance to The Godfather Waltz above.

She was this little tiny person with a mop of curly hair on her head.

“Spin me around dad!”

I would and she would laugh, sometimes commanding me to do it again, telling me to learn how to not be dizzy because she was ready to spin again.

And as the moment faded and the haze of the past let the present through I smiled and thought about how some girls like to dance.