I remember…a wedding. It was a good wedding. An enjoyable one. One where I took my children before they were old enough to drink, smoke, or tell me to do anything physically impossible with myself.
At this event, son Paul was encouraged by friends and family to show us his best Michael Jackson. He did, and it was good. Very, very good. His natural shyness (If you don’t know he is shy, you don’t know Paul) was overcome by the several beers he still thinks I don’t know about and he moon-danced his way into many hearts that day, earning a standing ovation from many. He was a fan when it wasn’t a crime to like Mr. Jackson, and he did it very well. I was proud. Always have been but don’t tell him I said so. Shh.
At the same event, daughter Lisa was ready to Rock ‘n Roll. Or rather, Dirty Dance. That was the film of the summer and everybody loved it. As soon as the words “I’ve had the Time of my Life’ rolled across the floor 100 people leaped to their feet, and Lisa pulled me along for the ride. We went through all the moves very well and were getting some positive noises from the nearby tables, right up until the point in the song where Baby does the dip. Lisa says I was out. I say she was. I had been drinking, but that is irrelevant, as a parent I am always right. She dipped. I didn’t. She launched herself backwards across two tables full of drinks, skidded across the floor and disappeared under an elderly relatives seat. I stood there with outstretched hand, waiting for the spin. I remember saying “What did you do that for?” In hindsight, it may not have been the best thing to say. Lisa, love her, recovered gracefully. After several stammered apologies and a round of replacement drinks, everything returned to normality and the event continued. But I will always remember the look in Lisas’ eye. She never asked me to dance again, and I am glad.
Young girls with eyes like potatoes, indeed.