Ultimately, dance dad duty results in a simple act: sitting helplessly in the audience while a stranger passes judgement upon your child and a year worth of your evenings spent driving through snow storms and commuter traffic to deliver her to weekly dance classes.
Like anything, life ain’t always fair. But tell that to a kid who woke up early to spend two hours doing her hair and make-up.
I kid. I joke. Dance moms make the dance world go round…
…but I do feel a little out of my element when I wander casually around any dance competition venue, hands in my pocket, thumbing my phone, maybe snapping some photos here and there. Meanwhile, other parents are lugging suitcases full of costumes and make-up in procession behind a hair-do’d up young lady in some elaborate costume, narrow, focussed eyes sizing up the room for any sign of weakness.
But we’re not going to retire on a ballet scholarship anytime soon, so I say just let the kid have fun…
I can’t say that I’m a great dance dad, but I’m learning.
We’ve just pushed through yet another dance competition season and we have the scars to show for it. Thankfully, we mostly tour on the local competition circuit so it means travel is limited to day trips. Yet that still means early morning hair-doing sessions (not my specialty) and lugging costumes carefully laid out in the back of the car so that they don’t wrinkle, and … of course … the anticipatory therapy sessions that go along with any kind of public performance.
You’d think after spending a year as a cartoon character, getting up on a stage in a tutu wouldn’t bother her that much.