My father taught me to dance before I could walk. He carried me into my parents' kitchen and twirled me to whatever song their crackly radio played. When I was old enough to stand, he taught me the Twist. Our favorite song was always "Wooly Bully."
Best of all, we moved with the music and didn't care who was watching. That sense of carefree fun strengthened my confidence, no matter how much acne I had at any given time.
Memories of dancing with my dad burn so bright. When my parents joined me at a work conference in Palm Springs, Calif., my dad and I had a ball dancing and singing during a dinner party. We sang everything from Aretha Franklin to the Beatles after we played nine holes of golf. We warmed up the dance floor again at a friend's wedding in San Antonio.
So the traditional father-daughter dance at my wedding was a big deal. My grandmother suggested John McDermott's Celtic song, "Daughter of Mine," to tell our story. I can still hear the beautiful lyrics: "I know you're not my little girl anymore...lovely young woman has taken her place... But always remember although we must part...You may leave my arms but never my heart."
Although my dad did not teach me my favorite hip-hop moves, he helped me find my own rhythm. Despite the years passing, I will always be my dad's little girl, doing the Twist in our kitchen.
Happy Father's Day, Dad.
Julia G. Passamani