daddy's shoes.

there i was, all of three and a half feet tall, spinning around and around and around. i worried about scuffing my daddy’s shiny new shoes or losing my balance, but when i tried to even focus on one particular thing outside our private circle, my eyes fluttered under the weight of the air and i could only laugh. i laughed and laughed and laughed at the silliness of it all, the simplicity of happiness that occurred when my five year old self was able to dance on the tips of my father’s shoes and feel alive. when the song ended, my dad reached down and lifted me up so i was the tallest person in the room and everyone looked into my sparkling hazel eyes and for a split second, or at least i like to believe, they felt like i did, like irish music can change the mood, like the slowest dance can be turned into an upbeat jig, and like being my father’s daughter was the biggest honor, and it was all mine.