Dancing with the Real Stars

For Rebecca Black.

Friday is a day to get down.

For my 14-year-old daughter Rebecca.

Friday is a day to pick up.

Every Friday.

That’s the night each week she goes dancing with the stars.

The Stars dance team that is.

A collection of eight dancers.

Eight dancers with special needs.

Some physical disabilities.

Some mental disabilities.

All severe.

All special.

All... Stars.

But on Friday nights for 90 minutes, nobody has a problem.

Everyone has a smile.

Including my daughter.

She's been working with this team for more than a year.

And loving every minute of it.

The dancers range in age.

From eight to 25.

Some of the dancers love shaking their booty.

Some can’t get out of a wheelchair.

Some love yelling.

Some just scream.

If they want to laugh.

They laugh.

If they want to cry.

They cry.

But at the end of those 90 minutes.

Every Friday night.

Something special has happened.

For everyone.

My only job in this special event is to be a chauffeur.

Driving my daughter to and from the dance studio.

And I do it with a smile.

My daughter’s job is far more difficult.

She is one of the coaches.

Her job is to help these special people do something special.

And every Friday that’s what they do.

Something special.

They love to dance.

Just like the other teams.

They have a routine.

Just like the other teams.

They perform at competitions.

Just like the other teams.

But they are unlike any dance team you’ve ever seen before.

A few weeks ago they travelled across the country to a national dance event.

And at this event, they danced.

They danced their heart out.

Just like the thousands of other dancers at this event.

But it didn’t take long for the crowd to see that they are not like anybody else.

They are special.

They are Stars.

I’ve watched this team perform many times.

And every time the routine ends the same way.

With a standing ovation.

A trophy.

And a room full of tears.

It may be predictable.

But it never gets old.

At “just” 14, I really don’t expect my daughter to fully understand what she is doing.

I don’t expect her to understand that what she is doing is amazing.

To her, it’s just what she does.

And she wouldn’t give it up for anything.

I’ve tried explaining that these 90 minutes are probably the best 90 minutes of the week for these dancers.

And probably the high point for the parents too.

Thankfully I have no idea what these parents are going through.

But I’ve never heard a negative word out of their mouth.

Never.

That’s pretty special too.

Sometimes I’ll sit with the parents, just outside the dance studio.

And I’ll watch.

Watch the kids through a one-way mirror.

And watch the parents who are sitting right next to me.

I’ll watch the parents smile.

Watch the parents breathe.

Watch the parents... be parents.

I won’t say a word.

Just watch.

Watch as something special is happening.

Right in front of my eyes.