Nothing More, Nothing Less

It was seventh grade for me, but she was in eighth. She was beautiful, with big brown curls falling around her freckled face, and when she said she'd dance with me during one of the few slow songs playing in the cafeteria that afternoon, I had my second surprise in ten seconds. The first surprise was that I swallowed my fear long enough to ask her to dance at all.

We danced for three, maybe four minutes, our arms outstretched like two Frankensteins in a shoving match, and there was enough space between us that I'm sure a decent-sized collie could've run between us sideways. Still, we were close enough that I found out she smelled like baby powder, and that baby powder smell was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me, or would for years. But I tell you that smell was enough.

When the dance ended Jenny went back to her eighth grade friends, and I floated back to my little gang of gawkers. She and I shared nothing more and nothing less than one dance on a sunny autumn afternoon, but I thought about that dance every waking minute for the next few weeks, and even now I remember it sweetly, with a smile. I didn't get her number. We didn't hook up. There was no pressure or expectation that one dance should lead to anything more nor less magical than one dance.

I don't know if you've been paying attention to the message our culture gives teens these days about romance and how to treat the opposite sex, but if you've seen teenagers dancing in the new grind-it-out style, or cavorting on spring vacation and reality television shows, or if you're aware of the relaxed attitude many teens have about casual romance and unplanned pregnancy, you're probably wondering how to keep your kid safe from the proverbial wolf at the door. Teen romance often doesn't leave much to the imagination, or for adult relationships later in life, when a person is ready for real commitment and the adult consequences that follow.

Unfortunately, so many teens zoom right past the thrill and fulfillment that comes just from holding somebody's hand, or a simple dance, or even puppy love. Remember puppy love? Where did it go? I place some blame on our "gotta have more, thrill-a-minute" culture, some on our sexualized media, and the rest on parents who don't spend enough quality time, sharing experiences and driving home values that will protect kids physically, emotionally, spiritually, financially, etc., etc., etc. 

Recently the Gobles High School Grad Bash Committee threw what in my mind is the best party of the year: the annual Father/Daughter Dance. Usually my daughter and I will dress up and head to dinner beforehand where we sit down to a fancy meal and use our best manners. Then later, at the main event, I'll join a hundred or so other dads who spend the evening doting on their daughters. I dance like a fool to pretty much every song. Luckily my daughter is still young enough that I don't embarrass her too much. Yet. Most of the time she even lets me dance with her and her friends and they point and laugh. 

For me the dance is an opportunity to remind my daughter how important she is to me, and, perhaps, if I'm lucky, show her how she should demand to be treated in a few years when some young gentleman finally summons up enough courage to ask her to dance, or even on a date. Call me old-fashioned, but when it comes to my daughter, I'm old-fashioned. If you don't come with your manners, you won't leave with my daughter. Simple as that. My sons will get the same treatment, too, for the record.

Though I can't recreate 1981 for my children, I do want them to experience the real thrill that comes from the most innocent experiences. Experiences that are magical and wonderful, and begin and end with one dance on a sunny afternoon, and are nothing more, and nothing less, than all a happy, healthy teenager could need. 

Note: This blog post is from a series originally published as personal essays written for the Van Buren County Advertiser from 2008-2014 by Corey Harbaugh under the title It's All Good. The It's All Good columns were written to feature and celebrate life in and around Gobles, Michigan.