Although I think the actual TV show is called Dancing With The Stars, I always want to call it Dances with Stars, which I think is a brain-cramp-induced, subconscious reference to the movie, Dances with Wolves. As far as I know, the TV show and the movie are entirely unrelated.
Maybe it’s a weird message from God suggesting Kevin Costner should be on the TV show. I don’t think he would do well.
It was a good movie, though.
The best part of Dancing With The Stars, beyond the cheesy, shallow drama of the whole thing, has to be the commercials. I’m not referring, though, to the actual commercials on TV. Rather, I’m referring to what happens in our home during the commercials.
That’s when the kids dance. Tonight, during each commercial, Madeline practiced her spins and pirouettes (whatever those are) between the show segments. She would stare into the mirror and lift and bend her legs in various contortions, throw her head back, lift her arms in the air, and spin and jump across the room.
After finishing a series of moves, she always stops to see who’s watching, especially looking for recognition from Renee and I.
Madeline has to be the most beautiful, almost-seven-year-old girl I’ve ever seen. I know, I know, all of you fathers out there would be obligated to say your daughters were the most beautiful almost-seven-year-old girls when they were almost seven.
However, if we could be honest for a moment, we could all freely admit that you were just saying that because you had a duty to defend your daughters, but we all know that Madeline is really the one. I understand why you can’t agree with me, but I just want to acknowledge the truth for a second.
Anyway, when Madeline dances, I’m pretty sure the angels stop to take a peek. I can just see them watching with glowing smiles, then turning to look over their shoulders at The Boss and giving Him the quick thumbs-up signal. “You really got it right on this one,” they offer up as part of that never-ending worship service.
Sometimes, if I’m in a generous, dancing kind of mood, I’ll grab Madeline by the waist and we’ll dance a few steps cheek to cheek (with her standing on my bed or the coffee-table for a boost). Before we get 10 seconds into our routine, a line of dancers forms behind her, begging for a turn.
If I’m lucky, I can catch Renee in the kitchen in a generous mood, and she’ll let me spin her around the kitchen or slow dance for a minute. Before we get 10 seconds into our routine, an audience of small people forms around the wall of the kitchen saying, “Do it again, Daddy! Do it again!” or “Oh, Daddy, you’re so weird. That’s gross!”
I’m not sure what it is about dancing that makes little kids, and especially little girls, and especially the-most-beautiful-almost-seven-year-old girl, become so giddy, but I suspect they were made with dancing ingredients included in their recipes.
I am sure, though, that whenever my little girls dance, the smile that comes across my face can’t be kept away, and the joy in my heart reminds me where the real stars are dancing and how grateful I am to be dancing with them.