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These men, many of whom had probably never danced in their lives, led their little dates onto the floor. Some were awkward. Some stepped on tiny feet and apologized profusely. Some just swayed back and forth, not sure what else to do.
I watched Robert lift Sita onto his boots so they could dance together, her little feet standing on his massive shoes as he moved them both around the floor. She was laughing. Beaming. Looking at him like he’d hung the moon.
Other parents started crying. Teachers were wiping their eyes. Even the DJ had to take a moment to compose himself.
A little girl named Sofia, whose father was in prison, danced with a biker named Marcus who’d done time himself years ago. He told her that her daddy loved her even if he couldn’t be here. That sometimes people make mistakes but it doesn’t mean they stop loving their kids.
A girl named Jasmine, whose father had died in a car accident two years ago, danced with Thomas, a biker who’d lost his own daughter to cancer. They held each other and cried together, two broken hearts finding comfort in shared grief.
A girl named Lily, whose father had never been identified, danced with James, a biker who’d been abandoned by his own parents as a child. “Being unwanted doesn’t mean you’re unlovable,” he told her. “It just means the wrong people didn’t see your worth.”
For three hours, those bikers danced with those girls. They did the Hokey Pokey looking absolutely ridiculous. They attempted the Macarena with varying degrees of failure. They slow danced and fast danced and did every silly move the DJ called out.
They ate cookies and drank punch and told those girls they were beautiful. They took photos that would hang on bedroom walls for years. They created memories that would last lifetimes.
At the end of the night, Robert gathered all the girls together.
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