There are moments of unexpected joy that come around in life. These moments are rare and when they come, one must see them for what they are and savor every second of them. My granddaughter called me a few weeks ago to ask me for a favor. The last favor she asked for was to borrow a couple of books, so I didn’t think much of it when I replied, “Sure. What is it?”
“What are you doing the week of the 28th?”
“Nothing much. I don’t know for sure, but I doubt I have anything scheduled. Why?”
“We’re having a Bob and Sue dance and I was hoping you could be my Bob.”
Now, I had never heard of a Bob and Sue dance, so the first thing that popped into my head was something like a Sadie Hawkins thing. She went on to explain that there would be a couple of practices and a dinner prior to the dance. It was then that it occurred to me that she was talking about Drill Team. My granddaughter is a Morton Ranch Maverick Belle and she was asking me to dance at the half time show during the football game.
And I had already said yes.
What had I gotten myself into?
Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t dance. At least not without first imbibing copious amounts of inhibition lowering beverages. When I was in middle school, I attended my first school dance. My lack of experience in that particular social ritual was glaringly apparent as I tried to figure out how to move to the rhythm while simultaneously screwing up enough courage to ask a girl to actually dance. As I tried to surreptitiously practice dancing while hiding along the gym’s sidelines, some school mate observed my awkward gyrations and commented that I couldn’t dance. That killed dancing for me for a couple of years. It was in high school before I tried again. I did manage to perform as Will Smith instructed Kevin James in “Hitch”, elbows in, shuffling from left to right in that safe space. No one would confuse me with Tony Manero.
It was with more than a little trepidation that I entered the Morton Ranch gym that first practice session. Reyna was nonplussed. Nothing fazes her these days; at least nothing having to do with dancing. She has been dancing her whole life. For her 13th birthday, her parents threw a surprise party for her after she had been with me on a road trip driving back from Arkansas. Once we got to the house, that girl started dancing with her friends and didn’t stop by the time I left to go home. I was exhausted just watching her dance. I have attended her dance recitals throughout her school performances as long as she has been doing them, only missing one or two. This girl can dance.
This guy cannot.
So once the other “Bobs” showed up for the practice, I noticed that several of them were in no better physical condition as I was, so I felt marginally better. Most of the Bobs were the girls’ fathers, so I was probably the oldest one there. Once the leaders started instructing us in the choreography, I became more concerned. There were steps and counting and shuffling and spinning and lifting involved. I began to feel better as the other Bobs were struggling as I was, so I drove on. The practice was on the same night as Game one of the World Series, so they wrapped up pretty quick, since the home town Astros were playing and many of the Bobs were anxious to get home for the game.
The next practice went longer, but they added more moves! I had not even gotten down the first set and now I had to remember even more! Oh, this was not going to go well. I was going to embarrass my granddaughter and she was going to hate me for life.
I needn’t have worried. On game day, we practiced one more time and I felt better. Besides, the rest of the Bobs were in the same boat. The dance was far from perfect, but that was clearly not the point, given how little preparation went into the Bob part. It was just supposed to be a great and fun time for the girls and their “Bobs.” I am so proud Reyna asked me to be her Bob for the event. Even if she didn’t think it was a big deal for her, it was enough of one for me for the both of us.
So, here is the video. Enjoy!