Back in 2012, before I began writing these “Running the Campus” blog posts, I started sending out “weeklies,” emails to the campus and community that usually included something about what was happening at NECC that week, a perspective on a big issue facing higher education, and a short story about my daughters, who were twelve and eight years old and known in the weeklies as “Big Sis T and Little Sis Z.”
A few of those early “Weeklies” are still in the Archives of “Running the Campus.”
Well, big Sis T is nearly 25 now and making music out in Los Angeles, and Little Sis Z is down in Washington, D.C. studying public administration and eyeing a career in politics. Today is her 21st birthday, which reminded me of this one, which still gets me a bit wistful, from 2013:
What a Wonderful World
Big Sis T is getting bigger—she turns 13 in a few days—and I have to admit to more than a bit of fatherly wistfulness.
As she is discovering new musical tastes (sometimes at ear-splitting volume), dabbling with make-up, spending more time on her own or with friends, and changing her mind about boys as often as she changes clothes (hint: definitely more than once a day); I find myself admiring the smart, confident, beautiful young woman she is becoming, even as I miss the gushy, innocent imp she was what seems like just a few days ago.
So, the Daddy-Daughter “Sweetheart Dance” at Little Sis Z’s school on Friday night came along at just the right time. While Big Sis was out to the movies with friends, Little Sis and I got all gussied up for a night on the town (well, a night in the elementary school gym, followed by ice cream sundaes at Friendly’s anyway).
For the last few years, the parent volunteer group that sponsors the Daddy-Daughter dance has come up with a fun theme that they use to decorate the gym and select the dance music, and that dads and little girls use to get dressed. Two years ago it was a sock hop (poodle skirts for girls and Levi’s and white t-shirts for dads). Last year it was disco (lots of go-go boots, bell bottoms, and big-collared silk shirts).
This year’s theme, “Pretty Dresses,” meant that Little Sis and all of her adorable little friends were the belles of the ball, in golden gowns, flowery sundresses, and evening ensembles that would have been the envy of the starlets on the Academy Awards red carpet.
It left the dads a bit uncertain, though.
A few chose to go all out with a tux or crisp business suit. Others split the difference—with khakis and a button-down, while a few casual fellows showed up in shorts, flip-flops, and t-shirts (since it was ninety degrees on Friday, they may have been the smart ones).
Little Sis wore a black sundress with white lilies and her first pair of wedge sandals, while Dad went for a complementary (and safe) look: basic black trousers and a white ribbed dress shirt.
The first hour or so of the dance reminded me of a theory I’ve been forming for the past few years: The world might be a better place if it were run by naturally energetic, outgoing, compassionate, fun-loving eight- and nine-year-old girls.
The instant we hit the door Little Sis started to gather her crew around her. A group of Hannahs, Haileys, Kaylas, Kaitlyns, and Emmas darted around the gym like a school of fish, weaving in and out of other (well dressed) schools of fish as they scoped out the sea floor, raided the snack table, posed for pictures, made glow-in-the-dark jewelry, and a flurry of other activities that had very little to do with dancing.
Every once in a while the DJ would play a ‘tween anthem and dozens of girls would suddenly crowd the floor, putting their hands up to “Party in the USA,” rocking “Gangnam Style,” or boot-scootin’ to the “Cotton-Eyed Joe.”
After a while of trying to keep up with Little Sis and her posse, I joined the other dads at the side of the room and watched while she led a conga line to “Hot Hot Hot,” then disappeared into the crowd, off on another kidventure.
As I looked up and down the line of dads standing awkwardly in front of the piled up volleyball nets, basketball bins, and floor hockey nets, I couldn’t help but notice that things may not have changed that much since middle school. There were all those friendly, energetic, take-on-the-world-with-a-great-big-hug girls flying about the dance floor, and over here were propped the dates: taller, better dressed, and noticeably balder than thirty years ago, but basically the same well-meaning, somewhat oafish, two-left-feet guys, talking about Saturday’s Bruins playoff game in Pittsburgh.
Just when I thought my limited part in the Sweetheart Dance (chauffeur and photographer) may have already ended, and I felt that wistfulness creeping back up on me, the DJ slowed things down a bit and I had a magical moment: Little Sis appeared out of nowhere, grabbed my hand, pulled me out of the line-up, and said, “Come on, Dad—he’s playing our song.”
Sure enough, as we plunged through the crowd I heard gentle piano notes, a velvet trumpet, and Louis Armstrong’s friendly, growling voice singing, “What a Wonderful World.”
Little Sis held onto my waist as I slowly spun her around the dance floor, smiling, enjoying my blessings, and knowing that they may get older; they will certainly become strong, independent, and accomplished in their own ways; and they will always be daddy’s little girls…
