I live my days as a typical 42-year-old girl dad, but between 5:00 p.m. and whatever-o’clock we finally leave the house, I’m more of a chauffeur in crisis mode. You’d think driving to dance class would be routine by now, like brushing your teeth or wondering why your back hurts when you haven’t done anything. But no. This is war. This is dance class drop off take no prisoners war.
I watch the clock like it’s judging me (because it is), and just when I think we’re on schedule—bam. The Great Tights Crisis of 2025. One can’t find her left shoe. The other doesn’t like how her ponytail “feels.” Meanwhile, I’m standing there, a beacon of calm (I’m not calm) in the storm of hormones and lost hair ties, wondering how this became my life.
“We’re going to be late!” I shout, already knowing it’s useless. Being on time in this house is as mythical as a unicorn that does laundry.
By the time we’re in the car, the tension could snap steel. There’s a missing water bottle. Someone’s mad because the radio’s on the wrong station, and another person is having a full existential crisis because I asked, “Did you pack your dance bag?”
Spoiler alert: she did not.
But here’s the thing—amidst the chaos, the missed turns, and the fast-food dinners eaten in the backseat while I pray we hit at least one green light, I get these little moments. Glimpses in the rearview mirror of sleepy eyes and spontaneous giggles, of whispered secrets between sisters, and of them singing their favorite songs off-key like they’re auditioning for a Broadway show. And I know—deep down—that one day, when the car is quiet and my backseat is empty, these are the moments I’ll miss the most. The beautiful, maddening, messy middle.
One day, I won’t be the driver in their lives anymore. I’ll just be the guy they used to yell at for making them late. And while that day will come faster than I’m ready for, today, I’m the dance dad. The late, slightly frazzled, coffee-fueled dance dad. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Except, you know, being on time. That’d be cool too.
