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.

Just Do It

My 13-year old daughter has a dance competition later today.

She had one yesterday too.

She has one next week as well.

I missed yesterday’s event because my two younger kids each had basketball games.

I was going to miss today’s event too.

That’s because the tickets are $10.

For me.

And $5 for each of the kids.

My wife is the team mom, so at least the family would be represented.

And next week the group will doing the same exact dance.

For free.

So the plan to miss today’s event made perfect cents to me when my wife and I discussed it a few days ago.

It didn’t make nearly as much sense this morning.

I was going to miss my daughter’s dance for $20?

I was going to sit at home and watch the Pro Bowl Pregame show instead of watching my daughter?

For what reason?

$20?

I’m certainly not suggesting that $20 is nothing.

In fact, at Applebees, it can buy you one appetizer and two entrees.

But the Riblet Basket only stays with you for three or four hours.

Watching your child smile lasts... at least a day.

So I informed my wife and my 13-year old that we would be attending today’s event.

And that was final.

When they asked why.

I replied, “what if I’m not here next week?”

The room went silent.

And if you know my family, that is no small feat.

Now I’m not trying to go all Nostradamus on you or anything like that.

But based on the reaction my wife and daughter had, you would’ve thought my magic eight ball had gone all black.

I certainly wasn’t suggesting that some evil force is going to take over the world.

Or take over my existence.

But who knows.

Not me.

And not you.

But what I do know is that I have no plans from 5:00-6:00 tonight.

Well, had no plans.

So there was absolutely no good reason why I couldn’t watch my daughter dance.

Thankfully I don’t need to sweat out the $20.

Not yet.

But even if I did, is there a better way to use that money than watching your child follow her dream?

(Well, the Provolone-Stuffed Meatballs with Fettuccine does look tempting.)

I can remember a situation about nine years ago when my wife and I had dinner with my dad and his wife.

McCormick and Schmicks.

I never forget a meal.

Well at that meal the subject of Notre Dame Football came up.

As you may recall, I love Notre Dame Football.

Well my dad, who lived his dream working with sports teams for 40+ years, had never been to South Bend, Indiana.

The home of Notre Dame.

And he loved big events.

The Super Bowl.

All-Star Games.

Yankee Stadium.

And when it comes to college football, there is nothing bigger than Notre Dame.

(Hey this is my blog.   Therefore, my opinion.)

So I said to him, “why don’t we go back to Notre Dame for a game?”

“One of these years,” he said.

“What do you mean one of these years?   Let’s go now.”

So that October.

October 20th, to be exact.

My dad and I were back in South Bend.

To see the Fighting Irish face USC and those hated Trojans.

No bigger game in college football.

At least not for me.

And not for us.

We went a day early.

To be at the pep rally.

We walked around the campus.

Got to the stadium before kickoff.

And enjoyed the greatest game of all-time.

Well, maybe not all-time.

Although Notre Dame did win 27-16.

But it was a father/son weekend like no other.

And no other we would ever have again.

Eight months later he was gone.

A massive heart attack.

He didn’t even make it to the next college football season.

It’s a good thing we went when we did.

Now I’m not in the advice business.

Never have been.

But do yourself a favor and take a close look at that “To Do List”.

See if there is something you can do.

Today.

I’ll be watching my daughter dance.

Next!

Hello Friends...

Sorry for the few days off from blogging.   

It might make a little more sense in 686 words.   The good news is, I’ve got plenty of time now to share the new stories of my life.

Sir Bacon

I’ve seen a lot of wild days come and go.

The day I threw my five iron after my tee shot and hit a friend in the head.

The day I witnessed a bank robbery.

The day I made seven errors in one high school baseball game.

And then wrote the article in the school newspaper. 

Of course, with no mention of the seven errors.

But Friday could be the weirdest of them all.

I woke up in my new home of Manhattan.

Checked my email, as I always did, before heading to work.

And it is a good thing I did.

There was a bunch of junk mail, as there always is.

But there was one email that stood out.

It was from my work.

Telling me to come in for a meeting.

Four hours later I was on a plane headed home to be with my family.

I probably left out a few details.

Sorry.

As you might imagine, the story is A LOT more complex than that, but in the spirit of the blog, that’s all you are going to get.

Suffice to say, plans to move to the big apple have hit a detour.

Actually, a roadblock.

A New York sized pot hole.

Take your pick.

Life is nothing if not complicated... and confusing.

But the news is not all bad and in many ways it is not bad at all.

Regrets are a giant waste of time and I have none.

Or at least none to share.

The last two plus months have been amazing.   

I never realized just how great New York is.

But I do now.

I have absolutely no idea what the future holds and I probably won’t know until my head stops spinning.

Whenever that is.

But as I sat on a plane writing the latest chapter of my life, there were at least 4,398,729 thoughts going through my skull.

Most of which surrounded my family.

They had just finished up an 11-day trip to Manhattan preparing for their new life.

So much for those plans.

But hey, we still got plans.

Big plans.

We got some incredible news just a few days ago when my 13-year old daughter was invited to be part of a dance troop.

A dance troop that will be dancing in EUROPE.

Yes, that Europe.

Only eight girls were invited.

That trip will take place the same time my 11-year old son is playing in a week-long baseball tournament.

A tournament in Cooperstown, New York.

Yes, that Cooperstown.

My life has certainly been a roller-coaster ride for the last few years.

But that ride keeps landing in the same place.

Family.

No matter how many twists and turns life has provided, and there have been MANY, my wife and kids have always been my rock.

My rock, even while living in a hard place.

I can’t say -- both literally and figuratively -- what’s next in my life.

But I can say, without ANY hesitation, that celebrating the accomplishments of my children is where I plan on using my energy.

That and band practice.

Me and the boys played for four hours on Sunday.

We are back in the garage tonight.

I think somebody is telling me that’s where I need to be.

How do I know?

Well, during my flight home I was listening to the airline’s music channel.

And so far four of the nine songs our band plays have come on the channel.

And we don’t dare cover The Beatles.

I’m talking Marshall Crenshaw’s Someday Someway.

Not exactly the Billboard 1000.

I’m not trying to say that just because we are 30,000 feet in the air the signal to the big decider in the sky is more clear.

I’m just sayin.

I’ve spent most of my life under the guidelines of... things happen for a reason.

So don’t stop now.

Come on --- I’m sitting on a plane and Marshall Crenshaw’s Someday, Someway comes on.

28 years after it his #36 on the charts.

Really?

I think I’m in good hands.

Next.

P.S.   Thanks to all for your wonderful comments.   

As you might imagine, there are a lot of emotions attached to the latest chapter of my life, but as the t-shirt says, Life is Good.

As always, I welcome your correspondence.   If you feel the urge, please feel free to contact me via email at sirbacon123@yahoo.com.

Have a great day.