It’s that time again. Dark clouds have been gathering for awhile and I can hear the hoofbeats of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Dance recital weekend. I would never let the girls know but I hate dance recitals. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy watching my girls dance. It’s just the other 100 dances you have to sit through to see your offspring get their turn that is akin to waterboarding. Make no mistake, every Dad in that audience feels exactly as I do even if they won’t admit it. It is absolute torture to the male mind.
The girls wear makeup which drives me insane. Lots of makeup. Think clowns or hookers. I have pretty much given up on stopping this nonsense. They (they being the army of dance moms and instructors assembled against me) say that it is necessary for stage performances. That is fine but what drives me batty is when we take the kids to eat afterwards and people think I let my 9 and 6 year old wear whore makeup.
I have a few ideas for making these painful sessions more tolerable for the Dads. First off, beer. The Saenger Theatre could make a killing selling beer. Secondly, pagers. Like I get at the Olive Garden. The Dads can mingle in a back room playing poker and drinking cold beer. When your kid is about to go on, the pager goes off and you can go do your fatherly duty.
I can’t end this tirade without giving a nod to the dance Moms like my wife. I just have to sit through one night. They have multiple nights of practice and dress rehearsals to sit through. And by all appearances, handling all the dancers backstage is akin to herding cats. So kudos to you ladies.
Oh well. What are we gonna do. As the country song says, at some point we are gonna miss this. I just know that point is not gonna be this weekend. *sigh*
p.s. Makayla and Devyn, when you are older and I am dead and gone and you are reading through all these posts of mine that Ben will send you, know that I AM very proud of you both. I love you.