Missing My Daddy Tonight.

I helped with a daddy-daughter dance at a church here in the city this evening. The event was exciting and delicately planned. There was a spread of every imaginable sugary substance in varying shades of pink and red. There were cookies to decorate, necklaces to create and photos to take. There were daddies who danced until their balding heads beaded with sweat and their suit coats came off and ties were loosened. There were daddies with black leather shoes that served as a guide for the petite purple sparkled ones on top.

And then there were daddies who were quite preoccupied the whole night. There were two who sat in the corner, obviously business partners, discussing much more important matters than the ones in line for cupcakes. There were some who came and, though they were not elated to be at an overblown princess party, they politely tolerated the scene. How nice of them.

There were daddies who took pictures on their phones and those who couldn't hang up. There were daddies who laughed with their little girls and those who told them to sit still like a lady. There were daddies who danced shamelessly and daddies who danced around the subject.

As I watched all these little girls, I thought of my friend, Bethany, who commemorated the five year anniversary of her father's passing last week. And I hurt for her inside. I tried to imagine what she would have felt if she was there wiping frosting off the carpet and throwing cupcake wrappers away. And I couldn't.

So I stole away to the kitchen pantry closet and called my daddy. Because I missed him. Because I love him. And I wanted to tell him that.

There was this one station at tonight's event where girls could decorate a photo frame where the picture of her and her daddy from the night would be held. While the daughters were decorating the frames the daddies were asked to write a note on a small pink piece of paper and fold it inside the frame. When one dad asked about it, I explained. "And this is a spacial thing, you know. When she's my age she'll probably still keep it pressed in the pages of her journal."

He laughed.

I know this blog doesn't go out to many people. I have what, ten followers? And most of them my girlfriends who have to read it because, well, because they're my friends. It's almost laughable. But if I could say something to dads tonight, I would say this: you have no idea what you're holding. You have no idea the weight that has been placed on your shoulders as you cherish and adore this little princess on you lap. When you tell her she's beautiful, she's going to believe you. When you don't, she'll believe that, too. What you teach her about her mother is what she'll expect from her husband. The time you take to affirm her will be reflected in her bathroom mirror. And yes, we did keep that note you wrote. It's in our journal now.

Do I know what it's like to be a father? No. Do I pretend to understand? Not a chance. So I guess I don't know what I'm saying, but... thanks dad. I miss you. And I love you. And I just wanted to tell you that, I guess.