I had a "date" with my daughter on Saturday night, to the father-daughter sance that her school holds each February.
We went to the Japanese steakhouse for dinner, then to the dance. She was all dressed up in a new dress, with a corsage that matched, and jewelry she had made herself. She had her hair done and really looked even prettier than she normally does.
This year, she kept telling me how sad she was that she missed dancing with me last year, which is odd because she didn't say a word about it until about the last two weeks or so. But this time she made a point out of making sure we danced.
In fact, before the last dance of the night, a few members of her softball team from last summer called her and said they were all having a team picture taken, so come on. She told them that they would either have to wait until the dance was over, or take the picture without her.
It was sweet.
All in all, on of the few happy times I've had in the past four or five months. When I look back, I can't think of a single day since at least October of which I could say, "That was a good day." I get a moment here and there, occasionally string a couple of hours together, but this was probably the longest consecutive stretch I've had in ages.
I'll have to make sure I can get back for these dances after I move away.