It's date night!

And I'm reclaiming my rightful place.

Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash

A not-so-subtle message landed in my inbox 10 weeks ago.

It was from Parker’s mother.

The subject line caught my eye: “2025 Daddy Daughter Date Night.”

“Please see the link below for information on the 2025 Daddy Daughter Date Night and let me know if you’d like to participate with Parker,” the email read. “Resident rate is an option.”

In hindsight, I should have skipped the link. I didn’t need to see what lay beyond it.

The link directed me to a 60-page winter program guide from the park district. It dropped me right onto page 29, where a festive flyer announced this year’s event.

Six photos lined the page, framed by a pair of red hearts like quotation marks. Three fathers posed with their daughters, while two others were caught in the act — busting moves on the dance floor.

And then there was the middle photo along the bottom of the page.

Parker was pictured.

I was not.

My precious daughter, decked out in the unicorn dress that doubled as her Halloween costume, was shown posing with another man.

The man was her lone uncle on her mother’s side, who must have regrettably agreed to play the role of a fill-in father.

One thing I am not is an absent father.

That’s why I’m proudly reclaiming my rightful place with Parker at the annual Daddy-daughter dance tonight.

It will be my first time attending the event since 2019. I told you last March, long before seeing the picture I didn’t need to see, that I wouldn’t miss this year’s dance for anything. And the night has finally come.

We’re scheduled for two hours of fun. Before the dance begins at 6:30 p.m., I’ll treat Parker to dinner. She’s a foodie, but she’s not fancy. More importantly, she’s sensible. I’m confident Parker will be satisfied with her meal without running up a bill.

Last Sunday, we bought Parker’s dress. Again, I’m fortunate that Parker isn’t picky, but she didn’t hesitate to let me know whenever she didn’t like any dress that I so much as touched.

Parker settled on a lavender and white floral pattern, with a cropped sweater serving as a second layer in the two-piece set. I’ll match her vibe with a black suit, white shirt and lavender tie. Light work. Nothing major.

On Tuesday, I bought Parker the perfect shoes — as long as they fit.

Please, God, let these fit Parker. There is no plan B.

Parker requested heels, and Burlington came through with a design made for the occasion. On a nearly bare shelf, I spotted a $20 pair of peep-toe booties. The front featured an adorable white lining, delicately cut into tiny heart shapes, while the back sparkled with shimmering silver, adding just the right touch of glam.

We might not be the fanciest tonight, but we’ll certainly be the flyest.

When we walk into the venue, the first thing we’ll do is pose for a proper photo. I’ll even pull out my wallet and happily pay the fee for the photographer’s shots. After being subjected to last year’s picture, this year means a lot more to me.

It also might be the last year we attend.

Parker is maturing fast. The dance is reserved for girls aged 3-18, but of course the teens are too cool to be caught dancing with their fathers. Before I know it, Parker will file our long-lost tradition in the same bucket as she does Paw Patrol: “corny!”

But tonight belongs to us.

When we step into the building, we’ll reclaim what’s ours.

Every shared smile and silly dance move will be a testament to our special bond.

It should remind Parker that no one can ever take my place — and that she shouldn’t let anyone try.