Dance Partner Needed

On that day, when my daughter opened the front door, threw her backpack on the floor angrily, and stomped up to her bedroom, I knew something was amiss. At her desk, I found her crossing out words on a flier. I gently took the paper from her and instantly understood: an upcoming father-daughter dance. In our household, it's just me and my usually charming daughter, no dad or siblings, a bit of an anomaly in our suburban neighborhood where everyone does their level best to keep the population up. But mostly we fit in. Or, should I say, Jordan fits in.

I know her playmates sometimes ask her: "Why don't you have a dad?" They're not trying to be mean; it's just because they're curious. Sometimes Jordan and I talk about the dad thing (she has never had a father figure in her life), but mostly we just accept that our family consists of just the two of us and includes lots of good friends and relatives.

But here's what I've noticed as Jordan navigates her way through the social strata of the second grade: Her friends and their opinions increasingly matter. She recently informed me that in her list of top 10 people in the world, I rank fourth. I was proud to be up there with Sinead, Hannah, and Alison, although it took some negotiating on my part.

The last thing I wanted was for Jordan to be left out of attending the soiree of the year with her friends. I thought of suitable candidates: my friend Barry, a drummer, although he works weekends. My friend Mark, who remodeled my entire house and is now starting on the re-remodeling, might be suitable. Or my friend Brian might be willing to take Jordan with his own daughter, Anna.

But I settled on my cousin Billy, who has been one of my daughter's strongest supporters. Goofy and likable, he teaches her some things that I have to unteach her. Because of him, she knows what a basketball is and has a competitive streak but, sadly, no jump shot. They simply adore each other.

I called him, thinking maybe, just maybe, he would be available, even though he lives in New Jersey. Unfortunately, the dance fell on the birthday of his wife, Sheryl, and they had concert tickets. But the next day Sheryl called: "This is more important. We'll drive up for the weekend." Tears welled in my eyes.

On the night of the dance, Jordan was decked out in a jeweled headband and a new velvet dress. She was beyond thrilled. Billy was attired in khakis and a dress shirt. With a fully charged camera in hand, off they went.

They didn't exactly dance the night away. Jordan met three of her closest friends within 30 seconds and spent the entire 90 minutes with them, running around the dance floor, giggling, and generally ignoring the bored fathers in the room. None of my daughter's friends danced with their dads -- or with each other. The dads, Billy reported, mostly stood around, trying to catch a glimpse of their "dates."

But was it a success? Yes, absolutely. Jordan happily spent time with her friends. But more important, in a room filled with fathers and daughters, she belonged. Not because she had a dad, but because she knew there was someone in her life who cared enough about her to escort her to this event. Whether it was a father, friend, uncle, or cousin didn't matter.

Sometimes I wish that we lived in a community that wasn't so homogeneous, that had many different configurations of families. But I learned a bit about my daughter from this experience. She is resilient. She will get through whatever she needs to. It doesn't matter if you dance solo or don't dance at all. What matters is that you show up at the dance. What matters is that you know you are loved.

Judy Lawrence is the managing partner of Stellar Research, a market research consultancy firm based in Milton. Send comments to coupling@globe.com.

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