My 6 year old kindergartner (the Obersturmführer Bällerinä) and I went to our first “Father-Daughter Dance” the other night at her school, and it was fairly epic. Two hundred 6-10 year old girls all dressed up whirling, sprinting and pogoing around while 200 bemused and somewhat shellshocked dads tried valiantly to keep up with their Ravespawn.
Come to think of it, it was pretty ravey. The PTO volunteers handed out glow bracelets at the door, which the girls loved. There were long tables wrapped in thick black paper for drawing with glow in the dark markers. Kid ecstasy, in the form of heavily frosted cupcakes and lemonade were abundantly lined along the back wall. They had a proper DJ who played kid rave appropriate tunes. He also announced that he didn’t take requests. Well. I believe the answer is “None more ravey”.
In fact, I think I’ll have to go to the next Parent- Teacher Organization* meeting and suggest we change the name to “Father-Daughter Rave”. Look, I guarantee that there were a bunch of parents at that dance who have eaten fistloads of ecstasy. Think about it- a lot of parents in their late 30’s and early 40’s (I’m always the oldest guy in the room) which puts the prime drug taking period of their early 20’s smack dab in the middle of the rave scene- dancing shirtless, rubbing and licking random people, humping everything. I guaran-fucking-TEE it.
*I won’t actually be going.
Dance/ rave, whatever, the volunteers did a really great job and made it super fun for the girls and dads. The goofy photo booth was rad, and the Obersturmführer Bällerinä and I got a great picture. A result before we even went into the main rave/ gym!
We headed in and the DJ was bumping some Pharell. There was a 40 girl conga line snaking around a battalion of spazzy, bouncing children and a lot of dads trying to avoid getting racked in the nuts (more on that later). Pretty overwhelming for a 6 year old. Or a 49 year old.
We got some cupcakes and lemonade ;) and settled in at the psychedelic drawing tables. Whenever one of her favorite songs came on, we headed out for half a song and then she would head back to the table for some drawing and chill time. Those tables were an excellent idea, and gave the younger girls a little refuge from the utter mayhem that was unfolding all around. Holy Shit, I just realized that it was the equivalent of a “chill out room”! Your Honor, I rest my case: None more ravey.
The Obersturmführer Bällerinä and I danced to T Swifty’s anthemic Shake It Off, Uptown Funk, some Miley Cyrus- the DJ was kickin’ it. Then he played the Nay Nay song. Oh man.
I want you to imagine 200 short girls punching out on the “whip whip” bit, many of those at about testicle level. Now imagine their 200 dads trying to simultaneously do the fucking Nay Nay whilst protecting their bollocks from a horrendous battering.
It was the proverbial cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. Except there were 200 hundred cats and the 200 chairs had fists, and instead of tails the cats were trying to protect their clackers.
I saw a few close calls and no actual connections, but as i was concentrating furiously on the safety zone around my pods, I can’t say for sure that there were no casualties. You could almost hear a collective sigh of relief when the song ended. Parenting, eh?
Here’s a few observations from the other night-
It looked like some of the older girls’ fathers had a beer stash outside that they would frequent in twos and threes, tag teaming with their colleagues who stayed in and kept an eye on the kids. Obvious veterans. Well played and duly noted, good sirs.
Dancing with the Obersturmführer Bällerinä was like trying to wrestle with a bag of concrete that has kangaroo legs. She would hold my hands and pogo-twist-leap-spaz using my hands as leverage to jump higher, just fucking wrenching my back all over the place. I tried to get lower and made my arms go all limp, but that just put my face in range of her pogoing head. We found our groove eventually by moving our arms back and forth on a horizontal plane and I got out unscathed. Phew!
The attire was pretty formal- loads of dads in suits and a few in tuxedoes. The girls ranged from party dresses to full on ball gowns. The veteran dads were tres casual in yard work clothes. Not really.
There was a slight pee smell that blanketed the rave. Most likely coming from the heavily overused bathrooms. Again, very ravey.
The DJ played the Macarena. I was glad that the Obersturmführer Bällerinä was in drawing mode.
Everything went off without a hitch which is good because there was a lot of wind up leading to the dance.
My daughter was vibrating with excitement for the entire week before the event, which made bedtime... trying. The day before she asked to see what I was wearing. When I showed her she said “Oh. Isn’t that what you wore to my Uncle’s wedding? Aren’t you going to get a new outfit?”. Dude.
Dads took that shit seriously too. Mrs. Huttsez told me about a dad who was taking his daughter out to dinner first and buying her a corsage. I didn’t do that, but I totally get it.
The father daughter dance is like a rehearsal date for the kids, and as dads we want to show our daughters how they deserve to be treated, you know?
The missus said as much to me a few days before the dance, and I hadn’t really thought about it that way but it’s true.
I suggested to Mrs. H that maybe I should show up late and a bit drunk to help manage the Obersturmführer Bällerinä’s expectations and prepare her for all the douchebag dudes out there, lulz. Mrs H did not lol.
It was a fantastic night, and I’m looking forward to the next five to come. I think I’ll have to go in some rave wear one of these years.
That’s it for now.
Thanks for reading. See you soon.
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