Father Daughter Dance
On
a warm Saturday night of 1999 a nine year old girl was getting ready for the
annual father daughter dance. She had
braided pigtails, blue jeans, and bright red cowboy boots. Her mother beeped at the horn and the girl
ran to the car, hopped in, and turned around to smile a toothless grin at her
father. The girl’s mother dropped them
off at the school gymnasium to a room full of dancing fathers and
daughters. The girl grabbed hold of the
handlebars on her father’s wheelchair and danced the best she could. One of the teachers noticed the girl and
pulled her aside to see if she would dance with one of the other fathers
because the wheelchair seemed to get in the way. The girl smiled and replied “No thanks, my
dad’s the best dancer in the room! I
would never trade him in.”
This was the first
time that I realized that because of my father’s Multiple Sclerosis, our family
was different. Having a
quadriplegic
father limits physical activities but I have learned so much from him. He has many helpers who have all
become like
family. I grew up in such a strong and
loving environment. My father’s spirit
and strength, though not physical, have taught me to appreciate every thing that
I have. I know that I will never have a
“normal” father daughter dance, and I will never we walked down the isle, but
hey, normal is boring and rolling isn’t too bad.