I'll Take it From Here

This was a while ago and I may have a few details wrong, but my sentiments are the same!

My girls were young, I think around 5 or 6 years old and had been invited to a party in the village hall. It was a disco!

A slightly over the top party for a 6 year old, I felt, but still, the party room was decked out with disco ball, flashy lights, dodgy DJ playing dodgy music. A table set up along the back with bowls overloaded with cheese balls, cans of fizzy drinks, cartons of fruit juice and dishes of smarties. The perfect recipe for a fight over pass-the-parcel later.

The only thing missing was the cake. Which always came out just before home time, already cut up. I'll never understand why.

We'd take it home, wrapped in a napkin that stuck to all sides; squashed from being the first among other utter pointless items in the party bag and then passed straight into the bin due to the aforementioned circumstances. And shortly completely forgotten about.

Regardless of the time spent cooking, hours decorating then lengths gone to keep it a secret: nobody saw it, nobody ate it.

Anyway, as I stood looking about the room, my thoughts rested on the other parents. Many Dads here too which was nice. Although slightly awkward.

Especially those who loitered around the food table as if to keep busy, glancing every so often at the door, longing for home time.

Other stood, legs apart, arms folded like bouncers, on the edge of the dance area. Facing forward. Protective.

The Dads who were hands on got down with the party goers. Joining in chasing errant balloons; having a cheeky go with pinning the tail on the donkey. Trying very hard not to play any of the games better than the party boy... but struggling.

The Mums stood, comfortably chatting in groups. Oblivious to the party. Only glancing down at their child who approached in need of a toilet break. The Mum's response signposted Dad, who duly took care of the job, grateful for something to do.

A few girls were on the dance floor. They moved in isolation, occasionally finding some outstretched hands from another to swing around with. Quite a few of the boys hung around their Mum's legs, nervous about what to do.

It was early for the dance floor to be heaving, but the party was getting going. The DJ was on fire playing 'Crazy Frog' (Axel-F if you want to look it up). All dads could get involved here, nodding their heads, acknowledging the beat; they knew this one.

The darkness would deal with any shyness and, shortly, there would be a swift influx of activity as pass-the-parcel finished. Everything was going according to plan.

I was warming up myself and ventured towards a friend for a light chat. I really didn't enjoy these parties. I liked the ones where I could dump and run. But, here I was...

There was a small commotion on the dance floor. Two girls were having a little argument. Nothing to see at the time really. After a quick glance, I turned back to my chat.

A few moments later, things had escalated. The girls' argument had heated up into rough and tumble on the dance floor. I, with a few other parents, leapt towards the mauling group in amongst the boogie-makers to part them.

'I've got this!' I announced to the adult group but really I was directing my comment to one of the Bouncer Dads who was attempting to clutch my daughter. I will admit, she was the key perpetrator applying the most muscle in the duel.

I was trying to save him from a likely kick in the shin. But, my words made no impact. 'Really! I've got this!' I stressed.

But, he seemed intent on getting involved, and I turned to see him pull my daughter off the other. I was trying to have a word with her myself!

I persuaded him to release her.

"But your daughter was hitting this other little girl!" Bouncer Dad informed me.

"Yes. Thanks for that. They are both mine!"

I genuinely felt I was capable of containing my own children. Sometimes, other parents don't have quite as much confidence in me as I have.

It's annoying.